I meant to write Friday night but I was simply exhausted. Worked all day, then accompanied Cynthia and her children to Nordstrom Rack to buy them shoes. A lovely way to spend an evening — precocious children, sarcastic pal, discount footwear.
The place was a madhouse — tons of clearance items, spring collections were in, and I went crazy trying on impractical yet totally adorable espadrilles. I’m not tall, but I think my legs are bit longer than normal because I looked smashing in every pair I tried on. I eavesdropped on the conversations of women who tried on canvas Coach flats, spangly strappy sandals — everybody was buying pretty party shoes while I was pricing boring yet comfortable Converse All-Stars.
Cynthia and I would have been happy with fast food for dinner but the children insisted on Bennigan’s. The venue had been suggested by Cynthia at the beginning of our evening together, when we had energy to spare and were not laden with four pairs of children’s shoes. We waited at Bennigan’s for 25 minutes until we were seated right next to the hostess who, for a tiny girl, had an awfully big voice. All the better to butcher your name with.
I briefly considered an adult beverage but then reconsidered as I did not want to confrot the children with the sight of “Aunt Jasmine” gasping for breath after a sugary confectio of vodka and various fruit juices. Dinner was leisurely, though not so long as the party next to us — three women, four children, all of whom took about 20 minutes after the end of the meal to apply eye makeup to themselves and to each other instead, of say, paying the bill and getting the fuck up out of there.
By the time I got home, it was nearly 9pm and I was too tired to meet Michael and a bunch of folks at Big Chicks. The gay bar scene had to survive another night without me.