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2006-05-04 @ 11:55 p.m.
genitalia and spongecake


Its always weird when you go to a guy’s house for the first time and his wife’s not home. Now its not what you think. For once. Especially since I have this lengthy record of attempted husband stealing. No. This particular husband is someone from my art class who I originally referred to as my Potential Art Class Husband and then he became the Potential Art Class Husband Who I Think is Gay. And then one day when I was at an estate sale in a house I heard his slow drawling voice say, “Why Wittteee, what are you doing here? This is my wife, blanky blank.” And I tell you, you could have knocked me over with a feather because I was really convinced he was gay, but there he was introducing me to this willowy blonde woman with a wan smile and I was like, no way.

But no matter. He’s always been very nice to me and looks a lot like James Taylor and does very studied pencil drawings that make people look like statues, but in a good way. He’s also drawn me several times. I get very nervous when he does that. Like why would anyone want to draw a plump, middle aged woman who thinks she cool when she’s actually kind of geeky, but I guess its not for me to ask, but only for me to be stunning and try to hold my head in such a way, so that I don’t look like I have more chins than a Chinese phonebook.

So JS called me over the weekend and asked if I was available to help with a project related to our art class. We’re putting on a big event and we needed to do a mailing with over 300 pieces and I guess since I’m the only loser who doesn’t work full time amongst the art minnions, so yes, I would love to stuff envelopes.

Naturally right before I went over there, I suddenly went into full tilt, imagining we’d be stuffing envelopes and suddenly he’d ask me if I wanted to pose nude for him...you know, since his wife was at work. And suddenly I would be in a quandary. Should I? Or shouldn’t I? Oh damn, I’m just so scrumptiously plump lovely at the moment, how could he ever be able to resist me? You know, the usual wittykitty delusional stuff.

With that, I even did a few cursory nude poses in the bedroom mirror, like Hey! Looking Good...ehhh....okay, maybe I should just pose from the midriff up. Maybe swathe myself in a king-size 1000 thread count Egyptian sheet or something. The boobs don’t look too bad. If you squint. And the shades are drawn. And its frookin’ midnight and the moon is hurtling towards Mars. Arghhhhhh! What the hell am I thinking? Being nekkid with a married guy in the middle of the afternoon while his wife is at work. Doesn’t this sound familiar, witty? Doesn’t this have a certain ring to it? So I put my clothes back on, which was good for everyone, especially Guardcat who was hiding nearby under the table in abject terror and left for work.

That afternoon I arrived at his house around 1:30. He lived in my old neighborhood. I had decided to wear a summery dress and sandals. Oh witty, why put in a detail like that. He’s married. He had told me to come around to the BACK DOOR. I was perplexed. Back door. Was he hiding my arrival? I felt a pit in my stomach as I walked around the back of his house. He answered the door with a half eaten sandwich in his hand. He asked me if I saw his cat. Was that like a married man euphemism? He invited me in and I almost immediately started to speak in tongues. Why was I so nervous? I was babbling on and on about J at work and how he had said that thing about me always expecting life to be fun and that I shouldn’t. JS was just nodding his head as he was neatly wrapping the remainder of his sandwich. I wanted to shut up, but suddenly there I was....caffeine powered with a twist of angst.

He soon led me into their dining room and it was beautifully appointed just as I knew a potentially gay married man an artist’s home would be. Deep, boldly colored walls. Lots of artwork hanging, including a painted portrait of a woman that really reminded me of a portrait of my mom from the 1960’s. It was done in the same style and I kept looking at it as I was blathering on like a hamster on speed. It was funny how the talking thing went though. If we were talking about the project or our art class I could talk fine, but if he asked me anything personal about myself, like where I worked or what I did, my throat would clench up and I would talk like I had the beginning of laryngitis.

Hey “A”, now I know why I haven’t dated since the 1980’s. Self-disclosure angst. Who knew?

And naturally, in talking about our art class, which involves nudity, the word “genitalia” eventually managed to creep into the conversation. Gah! Not by me, I hope you know. I don’t even think I’d be able to form the word “genitalia” in front of a man, in his house, in the middle of an afternoon, while his wife is at work. Because I may speak a good game in print, but when it comes to reality, I am about as brave as George Bush is smart.

Fortunately that blew over rather quickly and JS finally let in the long lost cat Shane, who was a beautiful coal-black kitty. It had the most unusual meow that sounded a lot like Dinah Shore doing her big “MMmwahhhh” kiss-off in the 1970s. Not that Shane was gay, or anything, you know, despite sounding like Dinah Shore and all.

A funny thing I noticed about JS, although not very surprising, was how perfect he was about everything. I used to work in a print shop and stuffing envelopes is no biggie. But JS wanted everything folded in a very triple Virgo kind of way. Precise. Crisp. Germ-free. But what truly made me laugh was when we were ready to seal almost 300 envelopes, rather then licking them, which would have been impossible, JS came in from the kitchen with two brand new thick red sponges artfully arranged on pieces of expensive china. They looked like some kind of fancy dessert from some 4 star restaurant. So naturally I couldn’t miss a beat, being the wittykitty and all, so I said, “Oh....spongecake!” and actually made him laugh, which is not something that comes easily for a triple Virgo.


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