Call it being homebodies. Call it a love for our pets. Call it a love of our syndicated Law & Order. Whatever you want to call it, it all means the same thing: My roommate and I don’t like going out. For the most part, we spend our time coming up with good ideas and yelling at our pets, tucked away safe inside our metropolitan apartment. So the fact that she and I finally ventured into the world the other day was quite a feat. At first, everything seemed fine – we blended in seamlessly: tuned into the hip, in line with culture, and all set up to be normal people. Then dinner came. It was 4 in the afternoon, and we sat in a hip noodle joint surrounded by other “early birds” complete with their bibs and hall passes from the nursing home. We sat poised ready to continue our charade of normalcy – then came the Drink Menu.
“Play it cool,” we thought. “Just lay low, and no one will be the wiser.”
Our eyes understandably drifted towards the “Crazy Buddha,” which consisted of 60 ounces of delicious booze! “Done!” We thought. “Two straws + Crazy Buddha + us = goooood times!”
“No,” our social-awareness-conscience chimed in. “You must work towards not creating a constant spectacle of yourselves.”
“You’re right,” we thought. “Let us not undo the good done by the nice-times talk we had with the kindly elderly ladies at the table nearest to us. We should present ourselves as young, gentle, graceful ladies. . .
A pitcher of Mai Tai, please! Two glasses!” Ahhh. Subtlety achieved.