“I wonder what he is doing right now?”, Emily asked.
We were sitting on her patio. Waiting for our guests to arrive.
“I wonder,” said I. “Maybe he is getting ready. Ironing his outfit.”
We then talked about how sweet it would be. Him getting ready. Every man that walked by, we gave him the once over and imagined if that was the guy. One guy drove by with dry cleaning hanging in the back of his car. But that couldn’t be him. Our guy does his own laundry.
I met him outside, under the cover of darkness. I had to sneak out the back and as I went around the house, I could see the girls in the window, playing an ingenious game that involves inserting a carrot into a wine bottle. We didn’t have any carrots so we covered a tapered candle with duct tape. The big black candle. As I saw them laughing through the window, I tried to navigate through the dark alleyway and lost my footing, sending myself to the gravel ground. If anyone had been looking out the window, it would have looked like I fell into a manhole. A couple of glasses of prosecco, high heels and a dark alley were not gonna hold me back. I stood back up, held in my giggles and wiped the rocks off my knees. I had a man to meet. All class.
I stood on the sidewalk holding an envelope with cash and he pulled up in a tiny grey Ford Escort. My dad bought a Ford Escort in 1988. It was red and I thought it was a sports car. I now know what a sports car is. He approached me, gave me a hug, which was odd but nice, and introduced himself. I gave him his money and asked him where his costume was. He went to his trunk and pulled out the pizza box. I guess that’s the outfit. The box. No laundry necessary. I asked him about the music… did he have an Ipod or was there a small stereo in the box?
He reached into the trunk and took out the largest boom box. A giant, beat up stereo.
“Can you just sneak in and plug this in?”, he says.
Um, no. Nope. I can’t ‘sneak’ in anywhere with that. This is supposed to be a surprise. I am pretending to be coming back from a smoke, not a garage sale. But time was a-ticking, so I told him to just go knock on the door and I would figure it out.
The stereo got plugged in. And this is what it played.
He had a move called The Washing Machine. And he is very good at push ups. He was a nice enough fella, but I don’t think strippers really do it for me. It was good for a laugh, but I would have been more turned on watching him do his laundry. Ironing his pizza delivery guy outfit, ready to go make his dollar bills.
Dedicated to Heather, the beautiful bride to be and a real good sport. xo