Manly

I've been sleeping later in the mornings.  I don't know why I am able to, but it feels good.  I had to force myself out of bed at seven today.  I am guessing that I have had no virus but just a good old dose of bad depression.  Still, it is good to sleep.  It leaves me no time in the morning, though, for my regular routine.  I would write my Cafe posts at night, but they have been all jammed up.

Let me tell you quickly as I remember it how it all started with Carrot Head.  He is a well-known prick, but there are plenty of those.  Still, I don't take to people upstaging me well.  Or trying to, I should say.

This was many years ago.  I was sitting with my girlfriend of the time at a cute little Italian restaurant that was in a house in an old neighborhood in town.  It was a small, intimate place with good beers and wines and just above average food.  But the waiters and waitresses were extraordinarily beautiful and attentive, and the owner, who was a bit of a swordsman, or at least liked to act that way, knew me and enjoyed the women I brought to his little restaurant, so I got good tables and good service.  It was a fine, magical place to spend a romantic evening.

On this particular night, we were sitting at a terrace table outside.  Through the big plate glass window, I saw a stunning woman with dark hair who seemed to have also noticed me, and for some time I kept catching glances.  To my surprise, she and her date left their table and walked outside, approached our table, introduced themselves and asked if they might not join us.  Weird you say?  I know.  But the past was enchanted and life was richer and such things used to happen.

After they sat down, the owner/swordsman was especially attentive.  You could smell his Italian blood as it rose from a simmer.  And while we all chatted in the perfect night, Carrot Head rolled up.  The owner, of course, immediately called to him and lavished his attentions on old Carrot like he was a teenage girl.  In a moment, we had disappeared.  Which would have been fine if they had wandered off, but they didn't and so we sat, spectators to this horror.  Before the minute was out, though, I'd had enough and restarted the table conversation.  I have to say, though, that our new friends were completely smitten by Carrot and the aura of his minor fame, and my newfound friend couldn't seem to take her eyes off him.  For that, neither could her date, and old Carrot who loved his fame and all genders much was ready to take their flattery for fuel.  By now, I was wishing them all gone.  My wine glass was empty and we hadn't ordered and things were going south.  My girl, who knew the size of my ego and my peculiar temperament was looking at me but I could tell that she had an ear cocked to the other conversation, too.  I had been trying not to pay attention, but Carrot, napkin in hand, was asking for a pen.  He was taking numbers, it seemed, and was talking to my date.  And so I decided to be clever.  Really. It just didn't come out that way.

"Get the fuck away from the table," is how it came out.  The owner's grin kind of froze.  Carrot gave me a look of surprise, his hand still pleading for a pen.  I could feel the frozen energy of my new friends who were not yet believing this was happening.  Of course, there was only one direction to go.  I stared into his stupid eyes.

"Nobody wants your number."  I continued to stare.  I mean, there was nothing else to do.

The owner put his arm around Carrot and moved him toward the bar.  My girl looked at me and laughed.

"Fuck, I don't like that asshole," I said.  "I don't like him at all.  So," I offered my new friends, "let's get something to drink."

This is only a prelude to a story.  The night turned weirder, and my relationship with Carrot Head continued for quite awhile.  But I haven't time to write it now.  I should not have begun this at all.  I'm late late late for everything.  The factory boss is already on me.  I don't have time to reread this, don't have time to decide if I should keep it.  I must simply hit the "Publish" button and run.

This is no way to live.