chron·i·cles: Sally Forth!

Rooftop view from our old East Village apartment.

Stole this photo from a buddy. Thanks Ken!

Love me a good uniform.

I've been sitting on this notion for a while.

I believe that there is a secret network of New Yorkers that drop and pick up umbrellas in seemingly random places all over the city. 

They do this either deliberately and out of the goodness of their heart or, as I'm more likely to believe, it is one of those non-verbalized covenants that helps keep this crazy city in motion.


This secret umbrella network first got my attention earlier this year when a seemingly random conversation of bar patrons revealed that most of them cannot remember the last time they purchased an umbrella. As the chat progressed, a shocking revelation silenced the room <---- Oh, just allow me this detail. It makes for a better story.

These people can only remember ever just finding their umbrellas. They pick up seemingly lost and abandoned ones along the way from the back of taxi cabs... in Lost & Founds... in restaurant coat checks. They are handed ones by friends whose identity they can no longer recall. They are bumped in the foot by them as they roll on down the subway car.

And this got me thinking, when did I last buy an umbrella? Have I ever? I own now easily a dozen. I'd gather them all together and take a picture for you if it wouldn't wake the whole apartment up. How I came by them, I could never tell you. I just some how get one when I need one. Sure lazy drunks are always leaving me their belongings, but now that my eyes are open, I see that the network branches out in every direction.

I trust now that I will never be caught in the rain. I trust that I will find peace within myself when I too leave an umbrella behind. It will be as if the universe required this of me. I will have done my part.

This umbrella was the last push I needed to believe. It was found... in my own apartment! Left for me by some Secret Santa of Umbrelladom.

The pups don't care that I'm having a bad day. They'd steal my breakfast in a second and eat it while I cry.

My computer is now sitting in a bag of dry rice (yup, that's the way you apparently get liquid out of electronics) and now I'm suffering through a blog session on my honey's Mac. This computer is so annoyingly foreign to me. The keys are spaced oddly and the interface takes effort that I really don't have the patience for right now.

I want to go back to Friday, where my day was rosy and everything was peachy keen. Journey back with me.


It was a beautiful day, this Friday. Gentle rays from the sun broke through the budding tree branches in my back yard and tickled my eyes awake. I giggled as I stretched and yawn. A dog army crawled toward me and licked my face, while yet another laid full body across my legs. We all leap from bed.

The coffee? Plentiful, hot and delicious that day. Nothing spilled anywhere beside down my throat.

Spontaneously, I got a massage and it was the best one I've had in months and oh so cheap.

My plans for the day kept breaking and yet a new set of plans would simultaneously form, leaving me more and more excited to begin the day. Light on my feet, I got ready in a jiffy and found myself with an extra hour of leisure - a pleasure I thought I'd pass on to the pups, who have been so good these days and haven't complained at all about being cooped up while I work all these hours. And this is where my day really gets good.

I'll highlight the key points that brought me to the day's climax...

* Pudge pooped. Of course, he did. He's Pudge. But this time he pooped in front of a lingerie shop, where the three elderly woman who have had this shop in their family for the last 40 years were standing outside. They recognized Pudge and ran up to love on him. This is a rare thing - Pudge looks and behaves like an untamed beast. Only the brave of heart and the pure in spirit take an instant shine to him.
* I buy a slip. I've been meaning to. And with the day so nice, I thought it would be grand to wear the blousy vintage dress that I got at Shareen Vintage. 
* Feeling especially lovely, I meet my lady friends in Midtown to try and get Newsie tickets on lotto. NO dice. But they complimented my sweet vintage dress and this leads us to taking a $60 rickshaw ride downtown to see Shareen.

A red dress is hung in the window to indict that they are open for business.

Teaser!

Love my birthday girl! Thank you for inspiring an amazing day!

Sure, there are plenty  of new things to write about, but how about we step back to 2009 instead. 

That was a funny day...



It's time that I finally start chronicling as promised and what better event to begin with than the accidental date this married woman went on with someone other than her husband. Yes, you will want to know these details.

So follow me, if you will, back in time to... well, to earlier today. The Florida sun was hot, the air was still and I was full stride into one of those constant problems every 5-foot-nothing girl experiences when needing to move an immovable object. The object in question is not of concern here, but let me point out that if it wasn't for that piece of junk, I would not have found myself at dinner with the near-stranger who helped me.

I really must stop myself here to interject that the man was very kind, and in fact incredibly helpful in moving my object from point A to point B. When he suggested dinner, I should have let the red flag in head keep waving instead of playing the too-sweet-to-hurt-someone's-feelings-since-afterall-they-did-help-me sucker that I really am. I figured I could keep the event casual, as I had made it very clear I was married and intended to stay that way. I mean, I was casually acquainted with this person before the object had to be moved, wasn't I? Why couldn't I let him finish talking about his kids and X-wife over dinner as thanks?

What I didn't quite realize is that when a late 40-something recent divorcee suggests dinner, it is going to be a date whether you like it or not. And so it begins:

His X-wife is a bitch, but his children are beautiful. He is pre-diabetic, but eats lots of candy he buys wholesale at Costco. It is not uncommon for him to take down a case of beers in a sitting. He feels as though he is still in his 20's. As an old school Italian, it is his beliefs that I should be prepared to put him, the man, before all others. He, the man, will always put his family first. And although I, the wife, will never be number one, he will make my life very comfortable as thanks for my devotion. I should not be surprised to come home and find that my bags have been packed and that there is an airline ticket with my name on it. The first question he asked me about myself was: "Are you a bitch?" The second question was: "What makes you really mad?" The most exciting place he has ever been to is Costa Rica, where there are lots of beautiful women and good fishing.

By the main course, I had been assured that he wants loads more children and that it was fortunate we had reconnected as I was obviously "hot, young and supple."

"Fertile."

For dessert, I explained again that I was married and truly hoped to stay that way.

I offered to help pay the bill, but I was rejected. I offered to at least pay the tip, but was shot down. Outside at the valet, I attempted to pay the $5 to get my car back and was told, with an index finger in my face, to "Never. Do. That. Again."

I replied with a startled, "Sorry, sir."

A bold title. "A list of amazing accomplishments that I WILL complete!" Well, I was a bold 12 year old.

At least that's my best guess for the age at which I started this epic list. Obviously, it was added to over the years - It's fun to see how priorities (and relationships) shift over time.

So without further ado ---- Feast your eyes on my very first Life List, dug recently from the dusty archives of my childhood, and copied here with original spelling, corrections and all.


1. travel (drive) to every state
2. explore seven wonders of the world
3. visit every interesting and cultured place in Europe.
4. take pictures and develope in own darkroom of all journeys.
5. learn different languages
Spanish
French
Italian
Arabic
6. go skinnydipping
7. cut my hair incredibly short
8. live in Boston, California, New York, and various places in Europe.
9. preform in a play.
10. learn to play the bass, clarenete.
11. graduate 5 years college.
12. work as a photojournalist
13. keep a workout schedual for at least a year
14. go to a topless beach and participate :)
15. be in a band
16. sell a painting of mine (no specific cost)
17. live in a loft where I can have complete artistic control.
18. live humbly.
19. stay happy in a marriage/
20. have a child.
21. meet a new person everyday
22. stay opinionated and always know who I am
23. jog the entire circumference of Lake Park
24. read/understand all of Poe's + Shakespeare's works
25. climb the stairs to the top of the statue of liberty + Elfle Tower
26. have my entire family in the same room w/out an arguement. from me.
27. get on the honor society (National)
28. get my liscence. first try.
29. lecture on the prevention + whatnot of AIDS
30. go to ten formals during high school
31. volunteer at charities and/or do communitee service
32. work at Lauren's coffee shop
33. keep in touch with all my closest high school friends
34. crowd surf
35. fall in love
36. take a romanic walk on the beach, at night, with the man I love
37. learn something new everyday.
38. go back to Puerto Rico
39. go to confession and have nothing to say
40. See the AIDS quilt in it's entirety
41. pay for the toll of five people driving behind me
42. include those who are new or outcasts
43. remain pure at heart
44. remain straightedge
45. astral travel.
46. never become like my parents (some characterists excluded)
47. go on a great adventure
48. take risks.
49. go to a psychic
50. grow up to be just like my daddy
51. never stop having fun
52. go to a Rocky Horror theater and shout out every audience participation line.
53. always be a toys-R-us kid.
54. meet a man with all my standards --->tall, long dark hair, thin, built, nice eyes, loves music museums, poetry, traveling, culture, and coffee shops. Wears dark layered clothes and be a bit of a loner at heart. -likes to play at the beach. -isn't overly jealous. -is athletic and artsy all atthe same time.
55. walk in the rain w/out an umbrella.
56. complete a game of Risk + monopoly
57. never run away for good.
58. go snorkeling
59. own a cadillac of my own.
60. talk to the man w/the black hat.
61. go to an opera + feel like the most beautiful person there.
62. Go on a trainride.
63. Jump Parker's
64. Go to: Marti Gras
Verona
Paris
Florence
London
LA
65. Drive to Salem w/Lau.
66. Really go camping
67. Write a very meaningful song or poem
68. Go to church for no reason
69. Get roses from a guy
70. Swim w/all clothes on
71. Go to a real jazz club
72. Say "Fill 'er up"
73. Forgive my mother (preferrably before it is too late)
74. Find what stops this lonely feeling & hold on to it.
75. Do the unmentionable
76. Say the unmentionable
77. "love like this again"
78. never forget this book exists
79. join a kickboxing class or something of the like
80. left myself go hungry some nights.
81. Be able to spend the day with Matt and not have to choke down the saddness & bitterness
82. drive to everystate within this lifetime.
83. get married three times.
1- where daddy is in Maine
2- by elvis
3-@diana's bath -w/no one around
84. Go to Australia w/Kalee finally.
85. Own my own art store -totally appealing to children - who call me Auntie Jilly
86. Make love to a woman.
87. Meet Angelina
88. Never say "I should have done that."
89. Take [name scratched out] to Maine.
90. Go to Barbados, Africa, Egypt with James
91. Get a little dog names Petey
92. Go back to school.

It's blowing my mind that a year has nearly come and gone since our big move to the Big City. Every day I fall more in love with NYC and with Matt. Is it crazy that I see our little East Village apartment as a major root in our happiness? I know that this year is the sort of year that despite all of our daily struggles, growing pains and stubborn resolves will be looked upon a trillion years from now and have us saying - man, life was good.

We've also just witnessed the end of my second One-Year-Plan, which I'm sorry to say has gone past with far less fan fare than the first. I didn't accomplish nearly as much this past year as I had before. This usually strikes me as seriously discouraging, but why should it?

So, I haven't made all the changes in my life that I had planned to this year. Who cares! The ones that I did make have worked out really well.

I made it to NYC, didn't I?! A city that I have wanted to live in since I was 12 - at least that's how old I was when I wrote my first "Life List." And this version of me that I have become is genuine and awesome.

I am still working the same job, but so what! I wanted a better job, yes. And I intended to find one at the start of this year. But here's the thing - I have a pretty good deal going with my job. I made great money and have a completely flexible schedule. My job keeps me physically fit and I'm respected there and am considered an asset. Not a bad deal.

I haven't finished my book and I get side tracked from this task easily and often - BUT, I have the story line comfortably decided. I just have to give myself permission to sit and write without apology. I know that it's work that takes me away from it most days and I can't really help that at the moment, but there is a light at the end of this girl's tunnel....

I'm engaged! Yup, I'm taking the plunge... again. Does it feel crazy to you? It felt that way to me at first. In fact, my proposal story is ridiculous. Matt had gone down to Florida presumably for a simple weekend visit with his family and came back with an insanely beautiful ring. We had agreed not to bring up the topic of marriage for another year. This conversation came 4 months after he already started saving $$ and 2 months before he flipped that box open on me.

His heart was beating out of his chest that night. We were in our bedroom, just lounging around, his suitcase still on the floor busting forth with all the presents his mother had sent back with him. I can tell you hand-on-heart that even in that moment of realization, when my eyes started crying and my mouth started swearing and my nose started bleeding, that it was not him or the thought of being with him for eternity that shocked and scared me.

Do we need to stop here for a second? Yes, he in all his amazingness popped opened that ring box and with all that adrenaline pumping through his veins remained calm for my sake as he asked me to be his wife and I... FREAKED OUT!

My reaction was instant and involuntary and although I was embarrassed about it at first, I've come to think of it as perfect. First things first, I cried hard wet tears that burned my eyes and ran down my cheeks to completely soak my shirt. Super attractive, I know. Then I started swearing, because well, I was freaking out and I can sound kind of like a sailor when put on the spot. And then my nose bled for a good 20 mins because that is what it does.

Sitting on the floor of that bathroom, with Matt looking at me silently smiling, handing me fresh toilet paper when I needed it, waiting to hear me say anything that didn't rhyme with duck, I tried frantically to figure out why I was reacting like this. I was thrilled at the idea of marrying him. I wanted to be twirling in the moonlight with fairy dust drifting down around me. And then it became clear, I was not scared of marrying him, I was scared of married James again.

James, my former husband, did so much to derail his life and mine. He took advantage of my youth and naivety, while above all using my hopes for a great life against me. He wove epic lies and ultimately made me doubt every thought in my head and every word that rolled around in the mouths of my friends and family. Matt, thankfully, is not James.

But how can I know that this won't break me as the last love had? I can't. But I can trust myself. I can trust that what I feel for him and what I believe he feels for me is pure and good. I can trust that this partnership we have already formed is not a delusion and that he is committed and involved in this life we share just as much as I am.

I trust that if you add how amazing yesterday was with how wonderful today is, then the equation equals out to tomorrow being another day of happiness.

And if that equation some day changes or ends differently, as it does for so many people, well then... we'll deal with it when that day comes.

And to give us the best chance of never ever seeing that day, I will work hard at always being me, the girl he fell in love with. The girl that has inappropriate emotional responses to things (i.e. the bleeding and swearing!) and who never wears pants unless there is company over. My promise to him is that I will always consider him when I made decisions for myself and that I will always include his family in ours. I promise to always be excited when he is and to find a way to put my two cents in in a way that doesn't completely piss him off... at least not for too long anyway. I promise to trust his promises and to help him fulfill them even if they are only to himself.

I love the way his skin is always cool and clean and soft. I love the freckles on his ears. I love that his shoulders square off whenever he gets mad and that he has his whole kitchen thinking he speaks Spanish. I love how comfortable his is around my family and how he always makes sure I get the first of anything we're sharing.

I love how he loves me.

So to make up for completely botching his proposal, I made one of his
favorite rooftop dinners, coupled with champagne and a few dozen candles, gave him the ring back and asked him to try again. This time, he got down on his knee and made promise after promise to me and I smiled and laughed and let him pick me up to twirl me around. There was no moonlight or fairy dust, but there was an incredible sunset and the New York City skyline as a backdrop. My all time favorite photo of him was taken that night.

I had said earlier that I will look back at this year and this apartment and think of it as a golden era. I just can't imagine being happier than I am now. I have a feeling that this statement might possibly be proven wrong. I'm thinking I have even more golden years ahead of me that could possibly take the crown from this one.

But if it doesn't... well then, I will always have E 11 & B. Thank you East Village!

I'm writing here instead of elsewhere (read: the book). I sure do love putting off the projects that intimidate me, but man does it feel good when you actually hammer out some progress you're proud of. I'll get to you soon enough, book.

New York City has been quite the adventure as of late. We've been here for a good six months and have all the details of our lives nicely worked out. We have a cafe we like, can give directions (for the most part!), have friends and a routine. With all that settled, we've had so much free time to wander in my favorite exploratory fashion. Every city block is truly singular and every corner really does reveal a new surprise. But what is most unique in my mind is that these same streets offer an entirely different experience at night than during the day.

There are two cities in one here.

Walk down 9th street, for example, (shut up, Matt, I'm really not as obsessed with 9th as you think I am. Okay, maybe I am just a little bit...). During the day, the street is neatly lined with brick-freckled apartments and the occasional well kept fire escape. People bounce up and down concrete stairs into homes and stores and each others' lives. They have each been here umpteen times before. You can tell. The street is familiar. It is a Manhattan suburbia.

By night, when the natural light fades and the windows brighten with displays that may or may not have magically appeared sometime during the evolution of dusk, a street awakens in a way that surprises you because never once had you realized that it was even asleep! Friends and new acquaintances from all over the city fill the side walks and the laughter is hearty and the heat that spills out from the restaurants as the doors open to bring together all those who spent their days shaking up streets somewhere else in the world is alluring.

When the sun blinks out and the lights come on, I swear no one is alone in this city, not even me as I walk all by myself silently observing.

I like the historic side of this city (and all cities, for that matter) best. Matt and I have plans to go on some tours through the Tenement Museum here in the Lower East Side. We stumbled upon it sometime yesterday on our four hour walk. It was one of those beautiful Saturdays that New Yorks live for. We should have jumped on a tour right then and there, but didn't. No reason why, we just didn't. We really should have.

How un-spontaneous of us!









Oh AND, I got this plate :)

Being Florida dogs, born and raised, my babies had quite a shock when the first flecks of white fell from the sky. Bentley couldn't be bothered to be impressed (though he does seem to like to crawl atop the tallest snow bank to do his "business"), but Pudge loves snow more than anything he has ever loved before!

So, sky diving. Or should I say, SKY DIVING!

Now, taking the time to find the words to explain this experience seems small and almost pointless. It was incredible! There was the wind. And the rush, of course. But what has stayed with me is how secure I felt in my harness. How curiously surprised I was at the noise and the bustle of the sky when they opened the door to the plane. How my heart didn't even drop for a second even when I sat on the open-air edge looking down on the world as it does whenever I look over the railing of a cliff or through the window of a giant building.

The drop did hurt, but I believe because I didn't take proper care to minimize the sinus pressure I struggle with on a normal day - on the ground. And also, I couldn't breathe, but I blame my excited scream as I left the plane for having no reserve air in my lungs.

There's no pretending I didn't panic during my free fall, but know this: I was never scared! I got on that plane, I strapped in and I jumped! Do I sound proud of myself? Well, ok, I am a little bit. :)

Once the parachute was deployed, the float down was peaceful (besides all the elements in this little body of mine that were left screaming, of course). Key West was such a choice location and on that perfect day, there is not a sole on this earth, innately miserable or not, who could deny that during those four minutes, heaven was below me and not above.



Thank you, Matt, for taking me! Thank you for making my turning 29 exciting and not dreadful. Thank you for being wonderful and sweet and patient and kind. Thank you for knowing when to put up with my shit and when to not. I love "activities!" But you know that, don't you? So, thank you for that too.

* Check out more pictures on the PHOTOS page! *

Suited up and ready to traverse (pictures of her lime green slip-on shoes to come!), everyone's favorite cousin Kalee joined me for a leisurely hike up Frans Josef, the world's steepest commercially climbed glacier.

And, yes, this is one of those moments where you just figure you can do it. So many, after all, had come before you and as far as you can imagine, the tour guides would probably be charging you more if they were going to kill you.

The opening images are great. There's the light-hearted group of strangers, who together begin the two mile walk to the base of the mountain, blowing both their minds with optical allusions and their knees with 30lbs of foot gear. There is the gorgeous New Zealand countryside, bathed in it's early morning light and air so crisp you could drink it with a nice salmon and mango salsa. But by the time the jokes had died down that day, the glacier loomed before us and all you could hear echoing off the crystal walls was the faint grumblings of our jaded tour guide, who dropped incoherent obscenities over the timid patrons who would certainly be slowing down his shift. Kalee giggled, as she always does, whenever the secrets of pissed off or panicing nobodies kiss her path.

The trek began strong and despite the narrowing ledges, upon which we were expected to remain poised without the aid of hope or prayer, Kalee and I treated the trip as we would any other Disney-like theme ride. The whole thing just seemed too surreal; as in, we would certainly be in trouble if only we weren't on this really big movie lot. But our delicate, flouncy little bubble of serenity did absolutely pop when some idiot dropped his jacket down one of the many crevasses we had so far managed to ignore. It took the tour guide (if you thought he was pissy before!) 20 minutes just to climb down and grab hold of it. 20 minutes, Kalee and I realized, was far longer than we needed to die an agonizing death if we were to fall next.

Suddened the lack of safety precautions was all we could see. We were just people... on a ledge... of a ricidulously large glacier, with holes everywhere and icy ropes that had probably been up there for decades. And then there were the stairs! But, these were no ordinary stairs. Oh no, they were a slippy, slidy escalator to the black and blue world of the permanently injured.

Still ascending the mountain, we had to leap (I'm not kidding you... leap!) straight down from platform to platform until we reached the next landing, which incidently, was another tiny, little ledge bordering a snarling crevass so deep you couldn't see a bottom for all the soul shattering darkness.

Now what technique do you think would have kept you on this glacier? Face the wall and blindly reach down for the next step, risking your backpack and pounds and pounds of self doubt toppling you backwards. Or do you face out; your hands white knuckling the ropes beside you, forcing your arms to shoot out like sticks from behind and your body to propel forward as you desperately try to sit down far enough to reach the next footing? If you can't tell by now, this is where I lose it.

Kalee, on the other hand, was brave. That is, until we took these same steps going in the other direction.

By then, we had officially lost our group. I had closed my eyes and willed myself to the top first, turned around and was now looking down on her... and the cravass that had power pummeled all my bravery earlier that day. She was looking up at me, thinking the distance was impossible and that really it wouldn't be so bad if she just stayed there. She could set up a sweet, little house there on the ledge; small, but sufficient and cosy...

We, of course, both began to cry.

At first, it started out as desperate plees to not give up, that you're going to make it, and I love you, man. But, as the makeup drooled from our eyes and froze to our faces with the snot and tears of pent up exhaustion and fright, we caved and just sat there mentally embracing each other and willing our torsos to sprout wings.

So overwhelmed were we with our own personal woes, that we almost didn't even realize it when we were together again at the top. Suddenly, there was hugging and jumping and the wipping of each other's stupid crying faces. We grinned and laughed and patted each other's back for the job well done. See, we knew we could do it. Was there ever any doubt? "I knew you can do it. Did you know I could do it?" Sure! We're amazing!

Around the bend, we traveled merrily together in search of our group or at least any other signs of life, when we found it. Glaring back at us, with awe, disgust and complete horror, was the next group in line, who apparently had been waiting 30 minutes for even a glance at what had us echoing our laments over the entire mountain. With nowhere else to go but back to the stairs, we squeezed past them on the teeny, tiny ledge, as they each silently looked us square in the eyes. Being the uber-American's that we are, there was just no way we could let that sort of stillness hang. With rosy cheeks and pearly grins, we ushered our "Excuse me. So Sorry. Pardon me. Oh no, definitely, you first..."

As I was considering blocking my gentleman caller on Facebook so that I may post a link to his story, his latest status update hit. I just had to share it:

"I had a great bbq today, but to all you fakes and fonies, I say F.U.! To all you pricks I invited to my home. That did not have even the curtosy to respond to my invitation! I say F.U.! We had a good time without you. You know who you are. No worries! You won't be invited again. F.U. agian! bleed to death in your sleep! pricks!"



Aaaah... check please!

It's time that I finally start chronicling as promised and what better event to begin with than the accidental date this married woman went on with someone other than her husband. Yes, you will want to know these details.

So follow me, if you will, back in time to... well, to earlier today. The Florida sun was hot, the air was still and I was full stride into one of those constant problems every 5-foot-nothing girl experiences when needing to move an immovable object. The object in question is not of concern here, but let me point out that if it wasn't for that piece of junk, I would not have found myself at dinner with the near-stranger who helped me.

I really must stop myself here to interject that the man was very kind, and in fact incredibly helpful in moving my object from point A to point B. When he suggested dinner, I should have let the red flag in head keep waving instead of playing the too-sweet-to-hurt-someone's-feelings-since-afterall-they-did-help-me sucker that I really am. I figured I could keep the event casual, as I had made it very clear I was married and intended to stay that way. I mean, I was casually acquainted with this person before the object had to be moved, wasn't I? Why couldn't I let him finish talking about his kids and X-wife over dinner as thanks?

What I didn't quite realize is that when a late 40-something recent divorcee suggests dinner, it is going to be a date whether you like it or not. And so it begins:

His X-wife is a bitch, but his children are beautiful. He is pre-diabetic, but eats lots of candy he buys wholesale at Costco. It is not uncommon for him to take down a case of beers in a sitting. He feels as though he is still in his 20's. As an old school Italian, it is his beliefs that I should be prepared to put him, the man, before all others. He, the man, will always put his family first. And although I, the wife, will never be number one, he will make my life very comfortable as thanks for my devotion. I should not be surprised to come home and find that my bags have been packed and that there is an airline ticket with my name on it. The first question he asked me about myself was: "Are you a bitch?" The second question was: "What makes you really mad?" The most exciting place he has ever been to is Costa Rica, where there are lots of beautiful women and good fishing.

By the main course, I had been assured that he wants loads more children and that it was fortunate we had reconnected as I was obviously "hot, young and supple."

"Fertile."

For dessert, I explained again that I was married and truly hoped to stay that way.

I offered to help pay the bill, but I was rejected. I offered to at least pay the tip, but was shot down. Outside at the valet, I attempted to pay the $5 to get my car back and was told, with an index finger in my face, to "Never. Do. That. Again."

I replied with a startled, "Sorry, sir."