Gonna Slap That Look Off Your Face Like Life Don’t Hold You No More Mystery


Friday night.  Rain sheeting horizontally for the second Friday in a row, and we were watching it pound the glass and drinking our martinis dirty. When the third arrived, sweeter than us, she ordered sangria.

There was a sportscaster in a box mounted on the wall, his bushy beard bouncing as he gesticulated about something we couldn’t hear over the happy hour din.  A couple next to us crossed their legs towards each other as she drank something pink, delicately.  The woman behind us was turning 50 – her friends brought her a fuzzy tiara and the only man with her shoved his way to the bar for the finest liquor his Bloomfield money could buy.  The the bartender, in half as much makeup as the hostesses, was twice as beautiful.  A man in his 30s sat alone at the bar.

We were seated, the waiter was cute.  Each of us smiled extra wide and batted our eyelashes a little as we ordered.  Brushed metal and wood surrounded us, minimalist in spirit – fresh enough to feel like we might be somewhere far from here without being a mockery of itself  (a la the Rainforest Cafe or Margaritaville) .  The topics of “work” and “school” were dismissed quickly, and my pinot grigio arrived.

The sweetest of us had asked for directions to the restrooms, and we the other two looked in our own directions in the kind of blissful silence that only best friends can enjoy. I smiled, grabbed my glass authoritatively, and issued a proclamation.   Let’s make a pact. I said, raising my glass and eyebrows.  That we’ll never get old and boring.  That we won’t give up.  That we won’t turn into those shells of people who play by all the rules and who do the same thing day-in and day-out, only to be disrupted by heavy drinking and talking about the good old days.

We agreed we’d stay interesting.  That we’d keep learning and growing and believing in changing ourselves everyday.  And whether we move in together in Boston and take on the town or write letters and meet in fabulous cities with our sisters, we won’t get old. And boring.  The third returned, dittoed.

Dinner arrived.  Interesting, fresh, classic yet unique.  We finished and embarked on a roadtrip to surprise one more for dessert.  At the time it didn’t occur to me to ask her to join in on the pact,  but I suspect she made hers long before ours.

Who’s with us?

“That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.”  -Walt Disney



One response »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s