Two weekends ago, while enjoying Tanqueray and Tonic with a nice burning hookah at Le Souk, my dear roommate and I agreed that we were way too extraordinary to continue on with a date if it was going terribly.
One week later and there I sat, in a taxi with Jeremy on our way to Sala One Nine and dancing at Sin Sin to follow. The cousin of a friend of my friend, Jeremy was two years my junior, though what the hell–the men who are my age are too…well…and those older guys are…well…they are ALL just insane! I knew this was going to be an evening to remember as soon as our conversation began.
Jeremy: “So, you like to party?”
Frankie: “Yes, absolutely! I am psyched to go out dancing after dinner; my friends and I are out and about quite a bit, dancing and enjoying good music.”
Jeremy: [Chuckling] “No, I think you misunderstood…Do you like to PARTY?” [Now gesturing toward his nose]
This was it–who did he think he was? Pablo Escobar?!?! This was the moment that Ruby and I discussed! I will never sit through another evening of unnecessary torture!
Frankie: “Look man, the only snow I enjoy is the type that sends me flying down Okemo Mountain on my skis.”
I jumped out of the taxi, which was stopped at a red light, turned, leaned in and before slamming the door to disaster, said, “I am way too old for babysitting; stay away from the candy kiddo”.
–Frankie
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