This Fish Needs A Bicycle

canine vanity

There seemed to be this phenomenon that once you abandoned the living room (your coffee in tow) and joined the brunch table, you became part of a collective, brilliantly dirty mind. The more of Krissa’s fabulous quiche and potatoes you ingested, the less inclined you were to make conversation not steeped in innuendo. I’m fairly certain that somewhere, going about her Sunday activities in her sensible shoes, my mother was blanching with maternal shame. Where did her daughter get such a mouth?

The collective mind, full of food and bloody marys (juice for me, as I still had the previous night’s alcohol playing games with my head), retired to the living room for some quality time with the Sunday paper. I am now fully convinced that the New York Times crossword puzzle was meant to be a group effort. And the group couldn’t have been any better equipped. Krissa’s entourage was all I’d expected and more. Shiv, who is perhaps the most luminous of beings I’ve met in a very long time, Biscuit, whose mother probably didn’t name him that, and Bill, whose train of thought is ever-so-amusingly easily derailed, provided hours of very charming entertainment.

When Shiv asked at some point in our revelries, “Can we keep you?” I was so delighted I nearly had to ask for a moment to myself. “Oh, do please! I’d love to be kept!” And when Biscuit announced that he liked me, I think I actually blushed.

But the high point for this silly girl came on the subway ride home, when the most charming man ever to be named after an English cookie, told me that I had lovely canine teeth. I spent the remainder of the ride giggling with my hand over my mouth, completely absorbed in my own dentia. And why didn’t I have a mirror in my purse to check those puppies out for myself? Lovely canine teeth. Lovely canine teeth. I have lovely canine teeth.

I am so very unstoppable.

Being “brunched” is a very, very good thing.