Hopelessly Devoted to You

Tonight turned out nothing like I expected it to.

I watched one of my moon flowers open.

There was the unexpected invitation to a friend's house where we shared a bottle of Corail Rose and discussed feminism, anacondas and mens (plural intended).

Best of all, she shared with me egg rolls and cheese smuggled in from Bermuda.

I was sprayed with perfume for what was perhaps the first time in decades. Mmm, I smell like a girl.

On the way to our next stop, she observed, "You know, we're not going to meet anyone who knows what Rose is."

Point taken. I drank 1800 and she had Ketel 1 on the rocks. The female bartenders glared at us both.

Of the first two gents who tried to be friendly, from Chester and Hopewell respectively, one was wearing a t-shirt that read, "Don't Bro me 'till you know me."

The other one had the audacity to put his tongue on my friend's hand, causing her to warn him, "Don't lick me like you know me."

It was the first time I ever slow danced with a girl. It's better than you might think.

Best compliment of the evening: a man walked up to me and said, "I had to talk to you because you have the beautiful hair."

Why is it the wrong mens always say the right things?

So that you know, my plan tonight was to watch "Grease" outside at Quirk Gallery.

For the record, I definitely qualify as a beauty school dropout.