When the Bouncer steps outside I turn to Meera and say, “He sees a million girls a night. Why exactly would he want to kiss me?” “This is Manhattan. You can have any man, not necessarily for marriage, most likely for a one stand. For sure a kiss,” Meera declares like she is running for President, and then shoves me out of my seat.
I nod and follow him. He is two doors down, smoking a cigarette. I walk by cool, calm and collected. “Where are you going?” he asks. “Getting some air,” I reply. “Come and talk to me.” Well, okay.
We exchange names. He tells me about his child and how he bounces at night and goes to college during the day. Because he is HOT I have long since stopped listening to him. When he kisses me I do not resist. His lips are fabulous --- soft, thick, warm. We go back into the bar. He sits down at the door and I return to Meera’s side. “Did you kiss him?” she asks. “Yes,” I reply.
Eventually the Bouncer joins us to play Connect 4. I lose three consecutive games. It doesn’t help that I am taking strategic checker placement advice from Meera. We’re so drunk; sobriety won’t find us until next week. The bar closes and the staff begins a game of Twister. For some reason, despite drinking for seven hours and wearing a skirt, I decide to play. Doesn’t this sound like a good way to break my arm? Since the next spin requires me to contort like a Cirque De Soleil acrobat, which I am not, I fall down. Now it is well after 2:00 am and Meera and I are hungry. The Bouncer orders cheese slices for us and a hot dog for him. (I pay for the snacks). After consuming 600 calories Meera wants to leave. I however am very busy --- making out with the Bouncer. Somehow she drags me back to her apartment, he follows and she finally shoos him away.
Once in the apartment I pass out on the couch. Five hours later the sun wakes me. Whoa! I finally understand what “even my hair hurts” means. With my head pounding like a drummer boy with ADHD, I drag myself into the kitchen. I drink several glass of water then rummage around the bathroom for 1000 mgs of aspirin, hoping to kill whatever took up residence in my head. Can you believe Meera and I were sorority girls?
As the night comes back to me I remember the Bouncer. Oh my. I doubt my inner prude would have let me go home with him. In any event, I am thankful Meera was there. I lie back on the couch and declare, “Enough is enough.” Oof, the sound of my own voice hurts. So as soon as this drunken haze wears off I will get serious about finding a suitable boyfriend.