Elvi and I attended one of the city’s two autism banquets Saturday night and had a grand time, so grand that on the way home we decided to extend our night out. We headed to our standard Crescent Street haunt.
I normally go for rum and Diet Coke, but my favourite bartender used Malibu Mango rum. That was delicious. I highly recommend it to all connoisseurs of girly drinks.
Yet that was not the highlight of the night.
The DJ played some crap, so we took a breather. Elvi sat on the couch next to the dance floor and I stood in front of her, tapping on her knees. I felt a poke in my bicep and looked to my right to see a woman in her mid 20s leaning against the wall. I assumed it was a mistake, so I smiled and turned back to Elvi – but then this woman poked me again.
I raised my eye brows inquisitively and she stumbled toward/onto me. “Mid 20s” might also have described her breathalyzer result. She put an arm around my shoulder, nestled me into her chest and spoke to me.
“I can tell your not dat serious about her,” she said, meaning Elvi.
“Not serious about her?” I asked, stunned. I shouted into her ear above the music, “I hope we’re serious. We’ve been married 12 years.”
“Go be safe. Go somewhere else.”
I thanked my new friend with a quick nod but bravely stayed right there. A new song came on and Elvi and I started dancing again. My friend then told Elvi something, which Elvi doesn’t recall. I bet it wasn’t something about titanium welding or even something as fundamental as metal crystal structure.