Over the Weekend

I had one of those noise-making, confetti-tossing, drink-slurping and smoke-smoking weekends. It was long. I ended up exhausted. By Sunday, when I couldn't sleep in because I felt dizzy and achy and anxious that someone would show up with another bottle of something or other, I was grumpy. As it turned out, we were invited to brunch.

The cab took us to Union Square, but the restaurant was not there. Not even close. I closed my eyes and took a call from my mother while the cab honked uselessly at stopped cars ahead. As I talked to my mother, I noticed the volume on the radio creeping higher and higher, until I could hear the 49ers and the Raiders-- the driver flipped back and forth-- more clearly than my worrying mom.

No drinks at brunch, but the talk wandered to sex, as it does when tablemates are not actually mating. I learned about a sex club and before I could ask enough questions to satisfy my prurient interest, the conversation turned to our next proposed outing. The table had conferred as I had let my mind wander, and suddenly, we were scheduled for a romp, or at least some romp observation, at a sex club.

Brunch ended nicely, with pleasantries and promises to discuss appropriate outfits. I said I would do laundry, and I got laughs for it. I meant, I would do laundry that afternoon, but I suppose I would rather be clean than stinky at a sex club too. Except that I had and have no intention of going.