I met a man.

Let me tell you a story, but I am going to tell you my version of it – meaning that I am going to edit the truth in such a way that you will find my story amusing and maybe giggle a little at the end.  I am going to tell you this story, in the way that I want you to remember it.  In the way that I want to remember it, and so that maybe after telling it a few times, my mind will begin to believe my altered version is an accurate depiction how the events played out.  I am going to omit the parts about awkward conversation, the whiskey, and the annoying drunk invasive straight girls with big purses.  

My Scorpio horoscope for Saturday 11/17 said to get out and meet people.  I already had plans with a friend to go see a drag show that evening, but the smoke from the Camp Fires up north lingering around the Bay Area apparently was yanking out his lungs and his sinuses and he was not able to go meet people with me.  I was going to call it; once again, one of those Netflix Saturdays where I sit at home eating something microwaved while a cat purrs on my lap, my eyes pretending to watch the show, but my mind wondering what all I am missing out on.  Fucking hashtag FOMO! (FOMO = Fear Of Missing Out! In case you’re in your forties too and senile).   But I am an obedient individual and I follow directives well.  My horoscope had instructed me to go meet people, and so I did.  I showered, purposely put on an old set of clothes on and left for the city.

As so I  met a man.  The type of man that I had created a “must have” list for, and he met almost all of my criteria.  Holy fuck he does exist, I thought.  It was as if the God Of Love had finally said “Send this bitch a man already!!  She’s in her forties!!!”.  He was Italian.  Tattooed.  Brown-reddish hair with a full soft beard.  Tall.  Funny.  Sweet.  Great Kisser (I know, I know, I skipped a bunch of bases, but remember… I am in my forties and can’t waste any more time!!  My ovaries are drying up!!).  He had the body of a Greek god plus a box of donuts.  Sexy.  Charming.  Lord have mercy!!  It was true what they say, about “the right one comes at the right time”!!!

We danced.  We talked.  We laughed.  We kissed.  We held hands like a high school lovers and all that fairytale bullshit.  I was in such a state of euphoria that I forgot that some ugly old fat woman in a mildew-y dress and tiny tiny wings that barely supported her massive ass had told me that my pumpkin would turn to shit around 2 AM.  She gave me to extra hours – because I am in my forties, she said. 

Come 1:30 AM and the party is about to end.  We kiss one last time.  And I am ready to surrender my love.  Take my heart and all I own, no prenup needed!!  When we get ready to leave and I ask for his contact information, that’s when he tells me that he’s married, to a woman and she’s simply out of town.  And then he leaned over and kissed me one last time.

 

Disclaimer:  60% of the details above have been fabricated or edited to protect his identity and so that you won’t judge me too much! The fat fairy godmother was legit; we have those in Concord.

PS:  I think I hate pumpkin pie now.