Marky hosted us for an impromptu dinner on Saturday. Dean and I did a little dance when we heard. “Yey, free food! Even better, gourmet food!” I mean, this is a guy who has a framed autographed picture of Martha Stewart front-and-center on his bookshelf. That damned black-and-white photograph has been around since our early twenties. Marc lives and breathes all things design, fashion, and cooking (all things gay). His last status update was, “forgot how much I love watching Saturday morning cooking shows.”
Marc never fails to disappoint with his culinary skills: steak and potatoes, mushrooms and carrots. I know that sounds totally generic, but I have no idea how to describe how perfect the meal was since I don’t cook and I don’t know what goes into making a good meal good. Was it sautéed. Which spices did he use. I don’t know. I just inhale. I’ll simply say that it was amazing because it really was. Four friends gathered around a perfect meal and several bottles of red wine. It was like a religious experience—very timely for the night before Easter.
Driving back home, less than a few blocks away from Marc’s loft, I got pulled over. I say “I” because I was the one driving even though Dean and I were both in the car.
SHIT. I was actually pretty calm. The last time I’d gotten pulled over, the cop let me go. It’s been a few years since I’ve gotten a moving violation so I figure it’s about that time.
A blonde female cop walked over, “What insurance do you have?”
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“I’m sorry I really have no idea.”
The cop walked away with my driver’s license. I started gathering all the things I knew she would come back for: registration and insurance. When she returned, I had the papers extended, ready for her to take out of my hand.
“I’m going to let you go with a warning. I pulled you over because you didn’t make a complete stop at the stop sign. No rushing alright. This is a dangerous intersection and a holiday weekend. Take your time getting home and be safe.”
Really? Yey! Happy Easter!