Wednesday, August 23, 2006


It happened in the heat of the moment. You know how it goes. You have no intention whatsoever of getting involved and the next thing you know you're saying: You really should go. I can drive you.

Now you've gone and done it. You planned a relaxing weekend on the beach, some sun, swimming, checking out the guys. Instead you're up early, only to sit in the car for half an hour waiting for him to shower and shave, because of course he can't show up looking like the bum he is.

The thing is, he's really not a bum. And I wish I didn't have this big, fat crush on him.

He smoked like a man possessed all the way there. He fidgeted. Could not carry on a conversation.

Once inside the trailer in the desert "community" his parents retired to, we sat stiffly on the edge of our chairs while his Mom poured another bourbon for herself and urged us to go ahead and have a drink. His father sat on the sofa; a beach towel between himself and the upholstery, the unmistakable spread and smell of urine – not camouflaged by the towel's bright pattern. Ten AM.

Looking to the bright side I think: At least when he finally realizes he loves me I won't have to worry about in-laws – they'll be dead soon.

And I hear him say: We can't stay long. We just dropped by on our way to Mexico.

I love him even more.


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