"But one," said the dimpled waiter at the overpriced health food restaurant I stepped into from the cold for lunch. I hadn't expected anyone to make rationalizations for me so early on in the day. After all, I presumed solo lunches were standard fair in New York City - as I was writing and attending to various other chores. If I hadn't wanted to eat alone in public, I would have ordered to go and slipped away into the solo misfit life that I just play on TV. No, instead I endured my scarlet S while chomping on mild miso soup with OCD cut vegetables and texturized wheat protein. The day's moments had fit too well into some construct that I, unassuming, fell into. I worked all morning for Loretta. Loretta is a steel hearted viper of a producer so impervious to others' opinions that she just spellchecked this sentence. Loretta gave up on love in the 80' and consequently or fortunately, depending on your own past, fell madly in sync with her partner Cybele. A first for Loretta both in gender and in demeanor. No more fights, no more consternation over whether to procreate, no more glass ceiling envy. Instead, quiet nights watching movies, cooking and looting over west elm catalogues where the only disagreement was over olive vs aubergine. Ahhh sweet banal bliss. Both ladies had accomplished without doubt more than anyone I knew. But admittedly and openly their vanilla romance left me chilly. But this entry is to be continued
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