a monkey, a fish and an owl walk into a bar …
saturday night found me decked out in spring finery, hair flouncing just so, and riding the train from providence to boston. fish met me at the train station, recognizing me immediately and giving me a big hug, while hungover. we traipsed the six blocks to fajitas & ritas, chatting about boys, the curse of tall-dark-and-handsome, and her identity twin the whole way.
we met monkey there, and he was fashionably late. it seems he’s read the etiquette books on exactly how late you can be to meet two ladies, and hit it right on the head – ten minutes after they get there, two minutes before they begin tapping their strappy little heels in frustration. a very well-advised entrance indeed.
[and girls, you know i'm going to dish here: he's just as good-looking and gentlemanly as you'd hope. we expect nothing less, clearly, but even this veteran owl was charmed silly by this bicycle's rakish charm. a lady can say no more, so you'll just have to find out yourselves.]
dinner was sizzling and delicious, conversation was bouncing from university experiences to drunken debaucherous tales to childhood hilarity and the differences between various kinds of texas pep squads. all in all, margaritas and beers were consumed, there was plenty laughter, and monkey and fish even consented to repair to the bar so that i could drink my last margarita while smoking.
charming. lovely. beautiful. those two make boston look distinctly less boring and fuddy-duddy.

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