Tree has been itching to go dancing for some time, thus, planned a formal evening out with several of his girls.
The night started at one of his favorite restaurants with me, him, That’s Not Chinese and Better Have. As soon as we sat down, Tree spotted someone of interest to him. Someone who happened to have the same name. This is a concept Tree really favors. “I would really love to date someone with the same name,” he told us while staring at the boy and smiling from ear to ear. “Then people can say, ‘Let’s have the Trees over.’ And that will just be so cute.”
Better Have decided to tease Tree about the boy and was pretending to engage with him across the restaurant. Tree had no time for this and quipped, “You have Angelina Jolie lips – so big that they’re always dry and cracked.” “Do you mean they’ve kissed Brad Pitt?” asked Better Have. “No,” Tree responded, “just dry and cracked.”
As we were getting ready to go dancing, That’s Not Chinese announced she would not be able to join us due to the fact that she had to work in the morning. “I work in the morning,” I told her. “You work tomorrow and you’re going out?” asked Better Have. “See,” Tree told That’s Not Chinese. “Listen, I sleep and I sloth,” That’s Not Chinese responded. “You sleep, you sloth, you pork, you pine,” Tree quipped.
While That’s Not Chinese was home sleeping and slothing (she was trying to pass this off as an animal trait, I know better, it’s a deadly sin), we were tearing up the dance floor. Sleepless, One And Done and I had decided to pretend to be naive to our surroundings and hit on the gay men in the bar. One And Done had no problem going up to them, smiling, and then encroaching on their personal space with her dance moves. She had done this with one patron and he attempted to get away. “Get him,” I instructed Sleepless. She attempted to do so and really did end up getting him when she lost her balance, fell to the floor in front of him, and he was cornered. “Nice work,” I told her. “Thanks,” she replied. “I stretched first.”
Tree had been toggling between the patio and the dance floor, but we had stayed on the floor the entire time. Our dancing was non-step – we were true dancing (****ing) machines. While throwing down the hobot, I was asked a question, “Why aren’t you married?” This is a question I am very used to being asked. What I’m not used to is the remainder. “No really. Why aren’t you married or dating someone? Do you have chlamydia or something. “Yes, ” I replied, “I do, but I took the antibiotic and have a tube of tropical cream, so I’m good. Just one of the prices we pay for being a ****ing machine, right?”