Recently I was walking home from work and wandered past an Asian market. Inside, a woman was standing in front of an open drinks fridge, with a small boy standing next to her. He was repeatedly and vigorously punching her in the left buttock, his little eyebrows furrowed with concentration. She looked expressionless and indifferent.
I would love to get to rewatch this moment.
If it weren’t for cameras, I would probably believe that two drinks is all I need to transform into a sensual goddess, humming with sexual energy, basically just exactly like Catwoman. That’s how it feels, when I have the two drinks in me. But cameras tell a different story… a story where my eyes are mostly closed, my mouth is hanging open like a fish, and I lose the ability to enunciate entirely.
I woke up today hungover. I remembered that during last night’s drinking I snaked my arm around my friend’s girlfriend and purred something salacious in her ear. At least, that was the intent. Thinking about it, it was likelier that I flopped on her shoulder and slurred something lecherous at her, spit flying, awkward questions of sexual orientation being raised.
I am glad I don’t have to rewatch this moment.