Frank, you dirty bastard!
Last night in mid-pawty, Y comes running inside and says there is a girl lying prone on the bayou and something is very very wrong. I go running out there and find this beautiful young woman in the baby pose sobbing out of her mind into her cellphone, her purple, green and gold boa wrapped all around her like a prison.
Frank, don’t say that…what did I do?…no Frank, nooooo, don’t break up with me…..Frank, I love you…..nooooo, pleeeease, what did I do?……Frank, don’t, pleeeease…….I love you.
I picked her up and carried her as far as the steps but she wouldn’t come on the porch, she was sobbing and sobbing and snot and spit were all over her face, the phone and the boa. I got her some kleenex and came back inside.
My neighbor was over, he had just gotten a daiquiri and was showing us his photography of nude women taken downtown, the warehouse district, and the Quarter. He looked at the sobbing young girl, still bent over in a quasi fetal position, still crying Frank, don’t leave me, and said in his thick accent, “Young love, eh?”
Meanwhile, on my screen porch, three Lesbians wrote down all the evils in their lives right now and burned the post it notes ceremoniously while one cried over seeing her ex with another woman.
And moi, you ask? I looked around and decided me, myself, and I were doing pretty damn good and we have nothing to burn, to break up, or to cry about – so I called it a night and shoo’d everyone out the door to do some R&R in prep for Mardi Gras.