Lick My Tongue

Ask me for a dark secret and I'll share with the entire room. FYI, I can also stare, get lost and cook.

Walking the pipeline so often, I've seen plenty of people fishing but yesterday was the first day I ever saw men throwing nets. It seemed so, I don't know, European or old-school. Charming and unexpected.

According to the one man staying dry on the sand (as opposed to the two with nets wading crotch-deep in the river in their shorts), the were casting for small perch, although in the 15 or so minutes I watched, they pulled in exactly zero.

Still, it's always cool to see new things happening on the river.

Despite my recent birthday, I am even still at this age navigationally-challenged. Today on my annual trek to Gallmeyer Farms in Henrico, I looked up a new route. Keep it fresh, right?

Instead, I somehow ended up on 895, almost immediately passing over the very road I'd been searching for. After getting off on 295 simply to escape the unknown, I eventually wound my way back to the strawberry farm.

Time eclipsed? Turned out to be a tragic 35 minutes for what should have been a 12-minute drive. It no longer even embarrasses me, it's just who I am.

Coming back from the farm with the box of ripe strawberries perfuming the car, I determined to go back the way I'd intended to come in hopes of seeing where I'd made my mistake. But the failure was technology's, not mine (vindicated!), because the directions had left out a key turn that would have put me on the correct road

Just so you know, this is a very satisfying moment for someone who gets lost as often as I do (such as Tuesday evening leaving Merroir for my parents' house and missing a turn...but I blame the darkness). I hadn't done a thing wrong for a change.

The reason I'd gone for strawberries was partly selfish (they're magical right now) and partly intentional. I was hosting a dinner party tonight and wanted them for dessert, along with the pound cake I'd put in the oven at 11:45 p.m. last night, by the way, the coolest time to bake when you don't use air conditioning.

With clear instructions from one of the guests ("Not gonna lie, I'm not easy to cook for. No meat, no dairy"), I'd chosen Alton Brown's guacamole and someone named Melissa Rubel Jacobson's chipotle shrimp tostada recipes, both of which went over smashingly well. In the process, I went through four avocados, three limes, two colors of tomatoes and onions and most of my cilantro plant.

Given today's heat and the amount of cooking going on in my bite-sized kitchen, I realized late in the game that I should have chilled the metal bowl and beaters before whipping heavy cream for the dessert but managed to achieve stiff peaks even so (culinary aside: the phrase "stiff peaks" ties with "hard ball stage" in candy-making for smuttiest sounding cooking terminology).

Is there anything more May-like than just-picked strawberries and cream? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy pound cake, but it plays second fiddle to berries and mounds of whipped cream this time of year.

On my walk to Belle Isle this morning, I'd noticed that Coalition Comedy was doing a "Dating Game" show tonight and immediately made a mental note. It's true, I remember that cheesy dating show, so I adored the idea of improv comedians riffing on it.

Paying my admission, I heard a woman member of the troupe tell a male one, "Lick my tongue," a proposition which appalled him. "What? No!" he said, backing up. "This is workplace harassment!"

The show hadn't started and already I was laughing.

On the counter was  sign suggesting patrons write an anonymous "deep secret" on a piece of paper for use in the sketch. Example: "I call my Mom when I score." I considered some possibilities and then jotted down a secret.

The name of the dating game was "Secret Suitcase"- "The dating game where two contestants fall in  love by ignoring all the major red flags!" - and the premise was identical to the real "Dating Game" with one lucky contestant and three eligible men or women.

The recorded music resembled the "Jeopardy" theme.

In the first game, it was a cocky plastic surgeon who referred to himself as a "titty doctor" meeting eligible bachelor girls Crystal ("I have a snack meat addiction"), Denise Jr. ("I judge men who don't sleep naked") and Emily ("I used to date Fabio") and having to eliminate one.

In between rounds, our host did half-assed commercials for Samsonite luggage (all the secrets were written on cardboard "suitcases"), saying things like "Samsonite Luggage...leather and so many compartments" and "Samsonite, what else kind of luggage is there?"

Much of the humor came from the inane questions the emcee asked when he put contestants in the "hot spot." Like, if you had to eat someone who was still alive, how would you do it? (Well, I have a robust pinking shears collection so I'd just cut him up...").

After intermission, we had a woman, Kelsey, choosing from three bachelors to pick out the best of true love.  "Look at these three fine, strapping bachelors," the host said.

"I'd do any of them," the giggling Kelsey replied. When one of the bachelors revealed that his member was fake, she dealt with it. "As long as it's a really big fake..."

Another secret read, "I have no idea where my life is going and for the first time, I'm okay with that." One time, a bachelor mentioned the "Kama Sutra" and the host told Kelsey, "I think that's a sex book." Her pause was momentary.

"If it is, I'll start reading!" she gushed.

Once she'd decided on a bachelor and he came out to meet her, they danced together (just like on the TV show) and then the host tossed his index cards of questions up in the air, also like on the show. Somebody had done their cornball homework.

And, as it happens, my deep, dark secret was used in the show, not that anyone but me knew. The woman who'd appropriated it ended up being the bachelor's chosen date. Coincidence?

There must be something to my secrets after all. And, no, I do not call my Mom when I score.