On Saturday night E.S. and I went to Margaret Cho’s Assassin; it was the first time we’d ever seen her live, and we shrieked with laughter through the entire thing.
Far more deeply satisfying, however, was going to the bathroom before the show started and seeing a man with whom I’d gone on a date over three years ago and who was the subject of my very first blog post ever. I had a great time on the date. He, evidently, did not, as evidenced by his rejection of me in an email in which he did not capitalize the first-person singular pronoun.
And on Saturday, he looked terrible. He hadn’t gotten fat, but his face was so lined and haggard and droopy as to suggest years spent wandering in the desert in search of the Promised Land.
Far be it from me to suggest that he had the Promised Land within his grasp and that his present desiccation is merely the natural result of his failure to do anything about it when he had the chance.