Possessing a complete unwillingness to cook, Mikey and I, decided to grab dinner at Home in the Castro. After a fabulous meal (really, you can’t beat beets) we considered grabbing a drink.
“Okay, but let’s not get Tuesday crazy.” My roommate offered, referring to our impromptu “drink” 2 days prior that resulted in solo dance moves to Hall and Oates and an unfortunate Wednesday.
“Who’s the old lady now? No, no. I totally agree. We should be all responsible and shit.”
“Yeah, but let’s still get a drink.”
“Duh. Where should we go?” I asked.
We looked around, considering gay bars versus Amber Lounge, the only place we might find people to flirt with.
Amber it is.
We walked across the street, deciding to peek inside first and scope the crowd. In front of us walked an extremely elderly man with one of those canes with the prongs at the end. We couldn’t really pass him, so we walked slowly behind him, rolling our eyes as we took tiny step after tiny step.
Come on, old timer. Hustle past Amber so we can go in.
With each laborious step, we inched closer to the front door of Amber, a mere 20 yards away. Nearly there, we were ready to bolt past Father Time into the front door. But suddenly, gramps and his pronged cane made an unexpected right turn. Into Amber!
Mikey and I looked at each other.
And went home…
*PS. Everyone should go to this tonight...