right. "I've dated several married men, you know, and they're always the best ones. Stable, never demanding, and happy with whatever you give them! Single guys complain, but married ones never do! If I could just meet a single guy who acted like he was married, well, I might be tempted to settle for him!"
I glanced up, across the table, and caught Sally also staring at the guy that Claire had been checking out, although her gaze was decidedly more dreamy. I noticed that her own drink, what looked like some sort of absurdly sweet daiquiri, was nearly empty. "God, he's handsome," she sighed, gazing at the man. "I wonder if he's a nice guy or not."
I reached across the table and poked her, disturbing her from her reverie. "You should go talk with him!" I insisted. Sally started to protest, but the rest of the table perked up and began encouraging her as well.
Even Blossom, sitting next to Sally, got in on the encouragement. "Go tell him that he looks like a dragon!" she said, rubbing Sally's shoulder. "A beautiful, majestic dragon that can warm you with his sexual flame!" We all turned and stared at her as she uttered this sentence, but Sally was actually looking encouraged.
"You know what?" she finally said, as we kept on poking and teasing her. "I'm going to do it! Wish me luck!" She grabbed her daiquiri off the table, finished it with a gulp, and made her way out of the booth, wobbling back and forth slightly as she crossed the bar.
Unfortunately, I realized as Sally stood up and left the booth, she had been the one sitting between my mother and Blossom; now that she was gone, there was nothing left between them, no barrier to prevent them from interacting. In panic, I gulped down the last of my third Long Island, a tiny part of my brain hoping that I would black out before the inevitable confrontation.
Astoundingly, it was Blossom who made the first move, scooting closer to my mother with a slightly crooked smile plastered across her face. My mother, who had spent the night so far gulping down cosmopolitans and had at least four empty glasses in front of her on the table, looked up at her with the expression of disgust that had become so common on her face, but this didn't dissuade Blossom.
"Listen, Janice," Blossom slurred, "I have to ask you something, that's really been bothering me."
The rest of us - Judy, Claire, and I - were frozen on the other side of the table, staring at this drama and wondering how it would play out. "What?" my mother growled.
"It's about Rick," Blossom elaborated, raising her hands up from below the table. "When he's on the couch, and you want him to do something, but he doesn't want to, and you tell him, does he do the little..." Her voice trailed off, but she held up her hand and flopped it back and forth in a vague shooing expression.
On my side of the table, we all recoiled in unison, waiting for my mom to fly off the handle. To our surprise, however, my mom nodded several times, her eyes widening slightly.
"Oh my god, I do!" she exclaimed, sounding utterly taken aback. "And then you have to ask him five more times, and he just keeps on insisting that he's about to take care of it, and he never ever does! I mean, how hard is it to take out the kitchen trash?"
"Yes!" Blossom cheered. "I mean, he knows that if you leave the bong water in too long, it will get knocked over and leave a stain!" My mom's face abruptly went blank, but Blossom plunged on. "And did he also do that other thing, where he would come into the kitchen and just take handfuls of food before it was ready?"
My mom nodded again. "That used to drive me crazy!" she sympathized. "I would always whack his knuckles with a wooden spoon, and he'd get all mad at me. He knew that dinner was almost ready, but he couldn't wait just a few minutes longer!"
"Yes, and then when he burned himself, it's somehow always my fault!" Blossom went on, finishing my mother's sentence. "I tell him, he needs to wait for the brownies to cool
I glanced up, across the table, and caught Sally also staring at the guy that Claire had been checking out, although her gaze was decidedly more dreamy. I noticed that her own drink, what looked like some sort of absurdly sweet daiquiri, was nearly empty. "God, he's handsome," she sighed, gazing at the man. "I wonder if he's a nice guy or not."
I reached across the table and poked her, disturbing her from her reverie. "You should go talk with him!" I insisted. Sally started to protest, but the rest of the table perked up and began encouraging her as well.
Even Blossom, sitting next to Sally, got in on the encouragement. "Go tell him that he looks like a dragon!" she said, rubbing Sally's shoulder. "A beautiful, majestic dragon that can warm you with his sexual flame!" We all turned and stared at her as she uttered this sentence, but Sally was actually looking encouraged.
"You know what?" she finally said, as we kept on poking and teasing her. "I'm going to do it! Wish me luck!" She grabbed her daiquiri off the table, finished it with a gulp, and made her way out of the booth, wobbling back and forth slightly as she crossed the bar.
Unfortunately, I realized as Sally stood up and left the booth, she had been the one sitting between my mother and Blossom; now that she was gone, there was nothing left between them, no barrier to prevent them from interacting. In panic, I gulped down the last of my third Long Island, a tiny part of my brain hoping that I would black out before the inevitable confrontation.
Astoundingly, it was Blossom who made the first move, scooting closer to my mother with a slightly crooked smile plastered across her face. My mother, who had spent the night so far gulping down cosmopolitans and had at least four empty glasses in front of her on the table, looked up at her with the expression of disgust that had become so common on her face, but this didn't dissuade Blossom.
"Listen, Janice," Blossom slurred, "I have to ask you something, that's really been bothering me."
The rest of us - Judy, Claire, and I - were frozen on the other side of the table, staring at this drama and wondering how it would play out. "What?" my mother growled.
"It's about Rick," Blossom elaborated, raising her hands up from below the table. "When he's on the couch, and you want him to do something, but he doesn't want to, and you tell him, does he do the little..." Her voice trailed off, but she held up her hand and flopped it back and forth in a vague shooing expression.
On my side of the table, we all recoiled in unison, waiting for my mom to fly off the handle. To our surprise, however, my mom nodded several times, her eyes widening slightly.
"Oh my god, I do!" she exclaimed, sounding utterly taken aback. "And then you have to ask him five more times, and he just keeps on insisting that he's about to take care of it, and he never ever does! I mean, how hard is it to take out the kitchen trash?"
"Yes!" Blossom cheered. "I mean, he knows that if you leave the bong water in too long, it will get knocked over and leave a stain!" My mom's face abruptly went blank, but Blossom plunged on. "And did he also do that other thing, where he would come into the kitchen and just take handfuls of food before it was ready?"
My mom nodded again. "That used to drive me crazy!" she sympathized. "I would always whack his knuckles with a wooden spoon, and he'd get all mad at me. He knew that dinner was almost ready, but he couldn't wait just a few minutes longer!"
"Yes, and then when he burned himself, it's somehow always my fault!" Blossom went on, finishing my mother's sentence. "I tell him, he needs to wait for the brownies to cool
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