28 Sept 2009
10:25a.m.
Since Bloke shipped out, Ali and I have been having a second (eighth?) honeymoon, like we like to do. We've been going out for drinks/dinner all week long. It's like old times. Old, hung over, debaucherous times. We spent most of the week tipsily debating whether or not I am pure evil for failing to confess my make-out sesh with MM to Bloke. I maintain that there's honesty, and then there's unburdening yourself at someone else's expense - and that telling Bloke would be a example of the latter. Ali was all, "I'm not a hundred percent." But as the week progressed, she came over to my way of thinking.
I mean here's the thing, given the choice, would,'t all men chose NOT to talk about it?
And by "it" I mean anything.
Ali says that one of my strengths is an ability to rationalize anything and make it sound not only reasonable, but somehow, sweet.
I say, I don't know from sweet, but I do know that if this fashion thing doesn't pan out I might have to go to law school.
Anyway, you'll be happy to know that although I did imbibe far too much this week, there was no stranger smooching. Unless you count the poor dude who was scooping at the Van Leeuwen Ice Cream Truck when Ali and I stumbled out of a happy hour situation, spotted the truck, and declared "desert dinner!"
We then demanded to kiss his rings in adoration before ordering.
Note1: he wasn't wearing any rings.
Note 2: there was much eye-rolling in the line.
Note 3: the scooper gave us free caramel sauce - so there! Dignity shmignity!
