I try not to let this trumped up Hallmark holiday affect me, but who am I kidding making a beeline to my favorite bar.
As I enter, it feels like a dream sequence, a very unfortunate one with couples draped across each other like bear rugs in every corner of the room. I can’t even find a seat.
Finally one opens at the bar wedging me between a fat woman with her girlfriend and a loud, happy duo wearing matching red vests and bandannas offering to buy me a drink.
“Yes, please,” I say, deciding I deserve one being the only drip without a date.
The barmaid smiles sadly as she pours me a silo of Merlot.
Do I appear that pathetic? Is there toilet paper stuck to my high heel?
There is so much cooing and canoodling going on I think I’ll die of envy. It’s like an outbreak of a germ, one I suddenly yearn to catch.
Poor, poor loveless Susannah…may I have another?
There’s nothing like a vat of wine and 30 or so people about to get laid for you to feel royally sorry for yourself.
“Whats’ a matter honey?” asks the dyke to my left. “Didn’t ya have anybody you could call to come join ya?”
Our eyes lock causing the whole room to freeze before she rushes over like her Chanel is on fire.
“Funny meeting you here,” she says, dropping her fur on the floor. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ll just bet she missed ya too,” chirps the dyke with a wink.
“Camille took one look at her before saying, “Who the fuck is that? Tell me you didn’t go over to the other side Susannah?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s just assuming we’re, you know….somewhat acquainted.”
I can’t help noticing how chesty Camille looks, and her hair, once red, is now platinum blonde. To be quite truthful, she looks great…a cross between a Siberian Husky and Miss February.
“Camille,” I whisper staring at the contents of her pullover, “did you get…you know?”
“For Christmas, aren’t they nice…and did I get a deal,” she coos as if she bought boots at a Saks sale.
“Yeah, they look amazing under that sweater, like lava lamps…but you said you’d never stoop so low…”
“Forget what I said…it’s the new me…hot, built and ready.”
“But you were always ready.”
“Yeah, but not like this baby.”
This causes Work-shirt to flip around like a tortilla. Coming in real close she says to Camille, “It’s a pity we’re both with someone, ain’t it?”
“Camille…let it go.”
Uh-oh. The look on her face tells me everything. One can say Camille’s not a lesbian lover in any sense of the word.
“Look here Laverne,” she says in her best Eve Arden voice, “you can just get that little notion out of that big head of yours…even if I did lean the other way, believe me…we’d have no future.”
I can’t help feeling sorry for Work-shirt who is speechless, but that’s not the case with her girlfriend who snaps,”Don’t kid yourself sweetie, it’s the gin talkin…even with that fake rack a’ yours, you’re just not her type.”
In true fashion, Camille and I begin to laugh. I mean, I couldn’t write this, especially when the barmaid wiggles over, her can the size of the moon, as my mother would say, and says with a chuckle, “A little more wine for you two ladies?”
“Let’s go to the Mark,” Camille said, “we have lots of catching up to do.”
“Yes we do, and let me say…I’ve missed you too.”
Wasn’t such a bad Valentines Day after all, was it?