|So very much NOT what mrpeenee's Friday night looked like.
Secret Agent Fred and I caught up over lunch on Friday, discussing the political conventions, ramifications of our on-going struggle against the patriarchal norm and why they were so few cute boys out in the Castro. Afterwards, we considered going out for drinks (always an amusing prospect with Fred,) but I was feeling feeble and my back achey, so I begged off and offered to drive him over to his boyfriend's house. Fred has been staying there on and off over the last few months and renting his own stylish pied a terre on Air BnB. It's been working well, Fred needs the money and tourists get the thrill of crashing in Fred's studio. Fred will assure you, very firmly, he's located not in the the Tenderloin, but on the fringe of Nob Hill, sort of the Tender Nob, heehee.
So we went wheeling off to the boyfriend's place and on the way there, I recalled the new Whole Foods had just opened, sort of nearby and I dragged Fred off for an inspection. Too late, I realized I had traded Fred's suggestion of an evening of society and high life for one consisting of grocery shopping. I know that awful harridan MJ from Infomaniac is always harping on what a musty old fussbudget I am, but never had I been forced to see how close to the truth she might be until the evening found us yukking it up in the produce aisle. I saw myself as just one fluffy miniature poodle short of truly becoming a creaky Old Mary.
On the bright side, they had nectarines on sale.
After we checked out, I ferried Fred on over to Duane's and came home to brood. How had I, the terror of French Quarter cocksuckers during the reign of Depeche Mode, turned into such a frump? Turned out I didn't have long to think about it cause Fred called to announce he had broken up with his boyfriend and needed a place to stay. So now we have house guests, Saki and I, which is fine with me, I adore Fred, but Saki is so not feeling the love about Fred's cat.
I know from experience the best role in breakups is to be supportive, but to try not to vent about how you always knew the ex was no good and sort of fatuous and dressed funny. As soon as you go down that road, reconciliations on their part become so uncomfortable. I remain loving and nonjudgmental. Saki just wants the brown bedroom with its attached bath back as part of his territory.