Sunday, April 29

Cat Litter on a Saturday Night

I went to a birthday party in Park Slope last night. The party was fun, great conversations with fabulous people and an excellent chocolate layer cake. It was nice out so I decided to walk part way down Fifth Avenue before getting on the bus. I remembered I needed cat litter so I stopped at a corner deli, bought some Fresh Step and crossed the street, passing by Ginger's, the local lesbian bar. I stood outside for about thirty seconds, tempted to enter the establishment, then I got a grasp of the situation: I'm a perpetually single thirty-something woman, alone on a Saturday night, about to go into my local dyke bar carrying a bag of cat litter. I am not ready to become that person, I thought to myself. I am at least fifteen years away from becoming her. At least. I also happened to be wearing comfortable shoes, not my usual platform goodies, and this just seemed to compound my feelings of loser-ness. I did not go in. Sigh.


mary said...

no way, you should've gone in. nothing starts a conversation like a bag of cat litter. (ps. I'm turning 30 this summer and I spend an inordinate amount of time talking to my cats. they aren't even my cats, they're my roommate's. uh oh.)

Christine said...

You will never be that person. Even when you are 60. You are 2 fabulous for that!