Fatale Abstraction

I had the funniest conversation with someone yesterday. A woman called me at work for some business-related information, and I noticed her name was the same as a woman who had written a sweet little response in yahoo group to the twit who wrote the poison pen letter last week, and I made free to chase rabbits with her. We had a great conversation, both laughing our heads off - we really spark. Like me, she is married to a deferential braniac who is a very good provider and who gets a vicarious charge out of watching people react to her. We established we needed to meet forthwith, and promptly made plans to meet today for lunch at my favorite local Indian restaurant. When Mary (a wonderful person in my office, the only "boss" I've ever genuinely liked) came in, she heard me saying "You'll recognize me because I'll be wearing a green suede jacket and holding a red rose in between my teeth. OK, see you tomorrow. I can't wait to meet you." We cackled. Yes, darlings, cackled. Mary said if she didn't know me better she would have sworn I was making a date. No doubt, one day soon we'll be scouring thrift stores together to find those 1970s giant wooden spoons with which to stir our cauldron.

Yes, we keep our men entertained. So many of my cardinal personality traits are masculine that it's surprising to me when I don't think about how men are responding to stimuli, particularly my man. I told Lisa (my lunch date today) that once some lesbian friends of mine had a big barbecue, and the crowd was about 80% lesbian, 19% gay men, and then me and husband. I'm often the token straight, being a lesbian hag, but I digress. After many beers gave their lives for a good time, a large group of women stood in a circle in the back yard, took their tops off, and rubbed their tits together. I was invited to join in, but claimed my level of insobriety would have made it difficult to stand if I destabilized two major centers of gravity on my glorious bawdy. That, plus it was more fun to watch - I enjoyed it thoroughly, loving outrageousness as I do. Flash forward about a year, and a stunning thought occurred to me. One day I called husband up at work and said "remember that party where all the women took their tops off?" He did. Waddyaknow. "Did you go to work and tell all the guys about it first thing Monday morning?" He did. So here are all these "Office Space" guys gathered around the water cooler hearing tales of the wide, wild world beyond, and giving husband mad props for riding the tail of a comet. Yeah, it's good to be my husband. Happy 40th birthday, sweetie.