Thursday, November 5, 2009

BOY TROUBLE

Lately, he had been calling me a lot to bounce ideas around about opening a restaurant. Big plans for a 25 year old – it’s just a crazy fantasy, I thought,I wondered where he would get the backing. “I saved 18 thousand dollars in the last two years,” he said, nodding. “Goodness! How’d you do that,” I was all ears. “I don’t ever pay for drugs or bitches.” “Annd it’s working!” I was impressed. Suze Orman would be hard-pressed to find as lucrative a plan as Joe’s No Pay for Drugs or Bitches Policy.

The rum was going to my head, Joe was bouncing off my terrace walls with future plans of restaurants, cohabitation, and the possibility of the two of us making a baby. It was better than being carded, I supposed it was still possible, as was getting hit by a meteor. He was fun, I was huffing his boy energy - he was built and handsome. He had come over one night a few months ago with a big bag of weed and a bottle of tequila. He was the second boy I had hung out with that rolled a Philly Blunt, a gansta style splif that I wanted no part of. He smoked the blunt, we did a couple of shots, and talked just talked until 4 in the morning. Now he was back, standing over me, his arms on the arms of my cast iron chair, enclosing me. As he moved his face towards my mouth I heard the sirens of the Pedophile Police in the distance.

I popped out of my chair, he followed me back inside to the kitchen where he proceeded to expertly clean my kitchen along with blow by blow commentary like he was broadcasting live from The Food Network in the'hood. Which dish detergent to use, the best way to load the machine, how to dry an entire night’s worth of dishes with a single sheet of paper towel, complete with the folding, unfolding of the aforesaid paper towel with the precision of an origami master. The night's entertainment continued with menu plans for future romantic dinners he would prepare for me, I was getting hungry at the thought of him cooking with all of that testosterone. “Claud, I really think it would be cool if we got married and had a baby,” he said offhandedly as he gathered his stuff to leave around 2 AM. “OK, sweetie, I’ll text you tomorrow from work.” I washed my face and brushed my grin and went to bed, what WAS he thinking, I giggled audibly there alone in bed. What was I thinking, he had moved to the top of my list of untenable would be boyfriends.

4 comments:

  1. oh boy.

    i think that says it all.

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  2. More ridiculousness.
    (In my pursuit of all relationships fruitless).

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  3. I understand the bitches, but want to know how he's rolling blunts without paying.

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  4. You don't ask the playah how he plays the game, I suspect he may be the conduit on some bidness, and gets paid in green, vs. greenbacks, son.

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