Weekend Skinny

I'm remembering why one is thinner when one is young.  I went to a party last night downtown.  It wasn't a wild party with piles of cocaine and candy dishes full of ecstasy, but there were plenty of functional alcoholics and conversation fueled by the same.  So. . . for two nights in a row, I've been up and out and living like a college kid who doesn't have finals for a month.  And when I come home, I sleep.  And when I wake, I sleep again.  And when I think I'm going to get up, I doze a bit longer.  And when I get up, it is long past my usual time.  This morning, I felt practically skinny.  Yes, staying up late is a weight reducing program.  No, being out late is.  I've stayed up late at home alone.  That has the reverse effect.  No, you have to be out and in a crowd.  You have to be talking and moving and laughing. And as long as you are doing that, it matters little what you eat (though I've eaten less than I do sitting home alone for sure).

It is the mania that burns the calories, I am certain.  There was a time when I was out with people almost every night, and I was slim and trim as I ever get.  In the morning, the speedy effects of the mania remained.  But it is what keeps you going out that is important.  Possibility.  Maybe night after night, nothing really happens.  But almost.  Or it could have.  Or it was in the offing.  You were working on it, setting it up.  And between times, you were planning exotic trips to foreign countries.  And when you spoke about it, there may have been the twinkle in some girl's eye.

Last night, standing on the balcony of a luxury condo overlooking the famous fountain of the city's landmark lake, the city sounds drifting upward from the street, the downtown lights setting fire to the sky, we planned a trip to Cuba.  "We must go soon," I said all practical wisdom.  "They are about a month and a half ahead of us in the march toward summer.  We don't want to be down there in summer."  We hoisted our cocktails and clinked glasses to seal the deal.  I could feel the instant fat reduction.

Just then, I got a text.

"Lucky you!  Turns out I'll be staying in town until June."

This from Red, the girl who started all of this again.  And right away there was a touch of panic.  God knows what might happen to me.  I might be skin and bones.  I felt the tug and pull of the old, safe life, sitting on the sofa after work and the gym with a small, late meal watching some HBO series again knowing bed was only a few rooms away.

"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land. . . ."

I remembered how I used to pray that some of my devilish friends would get exactly what they wanted.  I knew how that would work out.

After I said my goodbyes to the host and hostess, I walked down the long hallway to the elevator.  I could hear the voices before the doors had opened.  Two boys and three girls dressed in hip and sexy clothing on their way out after midnight.  Mid-twenties, attractive.  The girls were talking in their MTV voices about their shoes.  Oh, they were something alright, and I kept my eyes down trying not to look.  High heels and miles of long, freshly shaven legs.  Acres of skin.  Low mileage.  Those voices, those legs.  Then, just as the doors started to open to the lobby, one of them asked, "How are your shoes?"  I looked up into their six beautifully smiling eyes.

"Oh. . . they're fine," I said to the score of their musical giggles.

Being the gentleman, I let them step out before me, and as the last one stepped out, she turned her head and smiled over her shoulder.  And I don't care what you say.  That just doesn't happen at home.