Hallelujah!

Could the moon be more full?

Please! I know I asked for help from my friends but...What. The. Hell?

Tonight (7:55pm), in my car, dressed in a cute new cocktail dress and my phone rings. My friend is backing out on plans for tonight. Fine. I get that his could-be date backed out. I get that he's not feeling it. Big ol' sigh and let's get on with it. I drive to the art show and, damn it! Where am I supposed to park for this thing? After 20 minutes of circling the bus station and the hobos (yes, I said it) I find a place next to the 24hour flower shop and traipse my new shoes over the train tracks to a complimentary shot of single-malt. That's better. The art is good but the crowd is on average 20 years younger than me and I don't know anyone but one of the artists. I'm out of there after praising her obvious talent. I leave the gallery and maneuver through the dark streets to my car hoping against hope that I make it in one piece.

I duck into one of my favorite restaurants. It's a favorite because it serves a fantastic steak and one of the bartenders is a real cutie that I've been flirting with for about 6 months. Would you believe that he's maybe leaving said establishment? Ack! Not to worry. He has my contact information and he wants to attend an art event with me. I'm feeling pretty good about the fact that I wore the right cute dress tonight and that he won't be "the help". I hate that phrase. I hate the "should I, or should we" debate. He's attractive. We're both single. Forget about it!

Now's where it gets interesting. A man sitting next to me starts up a conversation. I think, "harmless". Wrong.

By the end of my steak and partway into his conversation, I'm trying to think of an exit strategy where I don't get murdered by the Jesus freak to my left. What did I do to deserve this? Hail Mary full of grace, please don't let him see me when I exit to the parking lot after going to the ladies' room. (I'd paid my tab earlier and managed to confirm with Mr. Hottie Bartender that he would be calling me next week.) I excuse myself to the rest room before Ezekial enters the promised land of discussing his upbringing in Kentucky. What sends me running? Literal fists on the bar and finger pointing to heaven. For a little while I think Jim Baker or Joel Osteen is in house.

I slink into the parking lot, making furtive glances over my shoulder and heave a sigh of relief as I shut my car door. I am safe within the confines of my car for the second time this evening.

So I'm home. I suppose I could lift a prayer of Thanksgiving for a safe return in light of the hazards I faced tonight. Or I could just be grateful for another adventure in this wonderful city and call it good.


©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved