My good friend Katherine won a bunch of free tickets to the Punchline and invited me along. I, in turn, invited Andy, my beloved homosexual companion. Andy and I met Katherine and her husband there, and along with 2 other couples I barely knew, we entered the club and ordered drinks.
I often bitch about being single. I moan and complain and curse the gods. I wonder aloud how someone so charming and occasionally attractive could be so universally rejected. And I can't fathom why the only men who find me breathtaking are the elderly or incarcerated. Last night, I thanked my lucky stars.
We sat there, the 8 of us, and heard 5 or 6 comedians of various talent levels perform. Some were grand, some sucked ass. Regardless, I was really watching the 3 couples at my table. And I was bored. They sat, with their hands in their laps, laughing when appropriate and sipping their non-alcoholic beverages. By their apparel, I could tell they no longer cared how they looked to each other. Physical contact was obligitory, and everything was "us" or "we."
"We don't like bananas."
"We'll have diet cokes."
"We're going to the bathroom."
Jesus Christ. I was ready to kill myself. The kicker, and this is entirely my snobbery and judgement, was when one couple ordered hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles. We're at a bar, people, with commedians on stage who will readilly mock that beverage. Grow some balls and get a fucking beer, little girl. They might as welll have ordered Shirley Temples.
I sat there, loving Katherine, but wanting no part of this lifestyle of joint checking accounts and moderate drinking. I looked over at my opposite-sexuality life partner, Andy Jay Jolley, and proposed.