Or, alternate title for this post (because it’s been a while since I had any made-up theatre): Back Porch Theater: Act One, Scene One — Temptation.
I got a milkshake from Margie’s. (Not on the plan, but it was d-f’ing-licious, and even though today was my cheat day, I still went to the gym … for old people water aerobics, but that shizz was hard as hell. Those old people don’t play. Everything hurts!).
Anyway, my milkshake did, surprisingly, bring some boys to my yard … or, more appropriately, my back porch, because I was sitting there with RJ enjoying the glory of sweet, high-fat dairy in my PJs. They were the waitstaff from the restaurant across the lot from my porch, a group of young men I absolutely love and who fall over themselves on the daily to give RJ treats. They wanted to know if I wanted to get high with them. I said, “Your weed high will never beat the high of a thoughtfully prepared peanut butter milkshake, fellas.” I was probably not that eloquent, but I did say “fellas”, I remember.
The look they gave me may have been pity, but I’m going to choose to believe it was jealousy/longing. At the end of the day, we probably paid the same amount for our respective highs (Margie’s ain’t cheap. That shake, at $7, was almost a dime bag), but I’m secure in the knowledge that my high was better and longer-lasting. Just ask my front butt.