CY considering making a "mix tape"

I am also touched by my fan club of one - but she's a chilli padi - and will be writing soon. Recent travels and conversations have been very interesting.

Scene: rainy Boston evening.
Protagonists: CY and "A", old friend from a decade ago, currently living in Cambridge, MA

WARNING: what follows may be juvenile and disturbing to some. Not to me :)

A was a character 10 years ago. He could effortlessly plumb the depths of tastelessness. He had a veritable repertoire of obscenities in several languages, delivered gruffly, with a snigger or chuckle. He was an armwrestling king, despite being twiggy. We loved him. We knew he wanted to get laid, but couldn't figure out how that woukd transpire. We hoped for one of those women who like being talked to dirty (it is kinda kinky but overrated - so I hear)

A few years later, I saw A at "WOMAD", where many people were apparently mudwrestling at Fort Canning Park - he was sitting on a blanket, a woman on one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. But the bottle was... in a BUCKET!! Alarm bells rang, and we philistines everywhere got ready for mourning.

Fast forward a few more years, and A is studying at HEC and Kennedy; he spoke of policy and polity; he was smoother. He was in a steady relationship - much steadier than my usual definition of "eye contact for 30 seconds". He was a master of Bordeaux and Riojas (please remind me to write about my multi-day Rioja bender)

We met at Helmand, an Afghan restaurant in Cambridge, MA, with fine cuisine and much finer-looking female staff. I was in love. Some of us are gifted that way.

The hostess was gorgeous. I was contemplating buying her a "condo" as proof of genuine interest and requesting advancing the work on babies to a time called "immediately". The waitress was a cutie of a whole different sort. "Is everything ok" she asked, and I of course replied, "But for the lack of your company, sweetheart, yes". She giggled. A lot. (Or perhaps she was making a police report, but hey, when you are in love...). A disapproved and said, ""CY, you are old". What the heck does that mean anyway?

As I engaged in aesthetic appreciation of the highest kind, A looked at me and said: "is just her looking at you giving you a hard on?"

At that instant, I rejoiced, for there was yet some vinegar in that maturing wine. Or vice versa.

I don't want to grow up. Mix-tape story coming up next.