When we last saw our heroine, she was tracking down guys in the street and speculating on the potential ramifications of her decisions. Ever self-effacing, she concluded that he would probably never call and the story would end there.
As it turns out, I was half-right. He didn't call. But as I stood in the gift shop of the National Gallery on Saturday (yes, I went back), I felt my phone buzzing in my bag. One new text message. From a 202 number I've never seen before.
Really? I imagined the words. Just an introduction? Maybe an invitation for drinks?
HEY SEXY. ITS [name]. WHAT UP?
Oh man. It's becoming clear why he didn't want to talk to me in Front Page. It could have something to do with a pathological inability to form a sentence.
To his credit, at least he didn't say SUP. But there was no way I could possibly respond to that. At least not yet. Not until after a couple of Sapporo and my finest rendition of "Livin on a Prayer" to date.
The rest of the hot guy story is unremarkable-- not only did he fail to string together a coherent thought, he also failed to find a group of us at Buffalo Billiards once we finished living out our dreams of karaoke superstardom. Clearly a winner.
The karaoke, though, was the stuff of legend, with one M.K. McCarthy and me soloing on a variety of classics including "Heatwave," "Follow You Down" (the dramatic irony of which I only realized today), and "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere." We were also asked to guest-star in a stirring performance of "I Will Survive." Unfortunately the song queue grew a little too long, so Meg, Marie, and I will have to wait for another day to pay tribute to Kelly Clarkson with our "Since U Been Gone."
Until then, stay classy, Cafe Japone.
2 comments:
I think your friend would have been eliminated by natural selection in the pre-text world. But then again, we might be marrying our cousins. So Fratty II lives. And we're saved from bonnets and other undesirable things.
damn right you sang "follow you down." don't you ever forget the blossom.
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