“…So in the end, I had to spell it out for him. I…have…a uterus Steve. It’s barren land and like all barren land, I want it populated, full of THINGS, full of POTENTIAL.”
“Good for you” cheered the auburn bobbed lady sitting across from her. “What did he say?”
“Well, his first response was a full three seconds of silence, followed by and I quote...'Well, the economy is really on the decline, can we really be..' and after that, I just saw red.”
“Where you angry?” quizzed her audience of one.
“I was! But more than anything, I was fucking disappointed” her profanity punctuating her level of disdain. She poured herself her third Mai Tai, the last remnants from the pitcher they were sharing. “I mean, its not like I don’t understand or even appreciate his point but really, who cares?”
“Mmm, mmm” chimed the auburn bob in agreement.”
“So, that’s when I decided that I would lead in this situation...” She extended both arms as she announced her plan. “...That I would take the initiative, make the decision for him, so we can stop beating around the proverbial and just get it done.”
Friday nights at The Table always reeked of sexually craven clerical assistants seeking post-work relief and house brand vodka while the bustle and desperation always trumped the nostalgic whining and humming emanating from the in-house system. The Table was typical in décor, high wooden stools surrounding circular tables, each one blander than the last and adorned with a lit candle welded into the neck of a wine bottle. There were no sofas or booths, just groups of stools and tables, a posse of furniture huddled together, providing a counterfeit feeling of intimacy in a faceless establishment. It was 6:40 pm and the bar was nearing capacity, with people from the surrounding offices and businesses nursing their week-long blues with a Lager Top or some unidentifiable glass of white wine that has had its taste sufficiently drowned by liberal lashings of lemonade. In the far corner, a blonde and her auburn topped sidekick sat engaged in conversation.
“Hey ladies,” said a testosterone soaked voice behind the inebriated blonde. She refused to turn around, letting the cropped rear of her hair act as her eyes and ears. “What are we drinking?” The blonde sat still and grinned at her auburn compadre and whispered in a voice that was intentionally loud enough for the man to hear
“I can hear a voice but I can’t see the person. Have you heard, that it’s only cowards and paedophiles who make a habit of approaching woman from behind?”
“I did not know that,” replied the auburn one.
“Oh I get it,” said the voice. “Teasing me teasing me” he feigned a laugh. “As long as I get to tease you…” Auburn, who was in direct sight of the man studied the stranger, his polished grin, the stained edges of his shirt collar, his cropped haircut that some boy-band had declared cool and the fistful of hair protruding from his nostrils - all of this allowed her to swiftly conclude him to be an unworthy addition to their nights entertainment.
The blonde continued: “Yes, in fact, they say that approaching anything from behind often signifies repressed homosexual feelings.” Auburn
“That’s a bit harsh now love isn’t it?” quizzed the man, his scarred ego manifesting in a quivering of his voice and a reddening of his cheeks. “I only wanted to buy you a drink.” He embarked on a monologue, a plea for the underdog but his voice trailed off as he took the lonely and defeated walk back to his pack of male friends.
“You can be such a bitch!” declared auburn.
“I know, but it’s my appeal.” She winked and the pair shared a moments’ laughter, a comfortable release of emotions suspect to strangers but coded to friends.
“So as I was saying,” continued the blonde, “I’ve decided toooo... come off the pill.” Auburn
“More cocktails?” asked the blonde.
“I think you better” responded Auburn
****
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