Snow Patrol plays on my laptop as I lather my face for a shave. I’m in my bathroom, alone. The tag on my towel keeps playing with my calf. Instead of tearing it off, I decide to suffer with the itch. Thankfully I keep my towel on–a flood of people pour into my room.
“What the hell are you listening to?! It’s Friday night!” the leader of the flamboyant entourage scolds.
Suddenly my bedroom is filled with well-dressed, perfectly annoying gay men. Some of my favorites. They settle on my bed, on my entertainment stand, and on the floor, glasses of wine in tow. My bathroom is open to my bedroom, making escape impossible.
They change Snow Patrol’s “On/Off,” a song to which I fantasize wonderful, sappy things, to Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass.” Always a good song for getting ready.
We chat about what we’ll do this evening as I shave and brush my teeth.
I think about what kind of mess they’ll leave my place. I’ll wake up in the morning with empty bottles, and half-full glasses, of wine sprinkled throughout my apartment. It’ll be a jolly fun time cleaning it up. No, that isn’t sarcasm. These people are worth it. They’re sassy, classy, and everything in between.
A short while later three of us are outside waiting for Miguel. He’s our on-again, off-again driver, the owner of a sexy black Town Car. His rates are only slightly pricier than a cab. And the arrival he guarantees is far more glamorous.
As we wait, a gorgeous group of three girls approaches us. Tipsy. They wear cocktail dresses and gregarious costume jewelry. Their hair is big and fashion-forward.
“You boys want to share a cab downtown?” they ask. “Six people in a cab?” one of my friend responds and puffs on his cigarette. The girls smile. What the hell.
We cram into Miguel’s car. A pretty brunette in a red dress ends up on my lap in the back seat. She smells delicious.The six of us laugh the entire ride. About wonderful things that don’t matter. There are no worries here–just a bunch of well-dressed, perfectly annoying, simply wonderful intruders.