10:17pm, Saturday December 4 in the 2010th year of our Lord. Michele sits at home, pretending to write while really wasting time reading about Bougie Blogger beef and reveling in the harmonic melodies of Mint Condition.
The phone rings, disturbing her unproductive groove. She glances at Caller ID, shrugs and continues along procrastination's pleasant pathway. Cell rings. Then home phone again. They aren't giving up.
"Yes."She answers none too pleasantly.
"Where ARE you?" An irritated voice slurs a little, party sounds in the background.
"Where did you call me?"
"Well there you go."
"Why are you at home?"
"Mayhaps because I live here."
"Stop being a smart-ass. You promised to be my wing-woman and designated driver tonight and I need help."
Oops. "Was that tonight?"
"You KNOW damn well it was. Get off your pampered ass and get over here. Now."
"I'm already in the jammies. I have ponytail rocking and the moisturizing booties on my feet. It ain't happening."
"I swear to God,either you get here in 30 minutes or I am coming to you and bringing these random Negroes with me."
"Well now I'm dying to come. Seriously. I'm not in the mood to get cute."
"You now have 29 minutes and 30 seconds. I don't need you cute, I just need you here. NOW!"
Maybe it was the semi-drunk note in her tone, maybe it was the fact that I had indeed promised, maybe I'm too damn nice. I decided to at least swing by, make sure she was okay and ride out. I didn't try for cute. Slicked back ponytail, plain hoop earrings, black sweater, dark jeans, boots. Clear lip gloss and one swipe of mascara. I got there with three minutes to spare.
When I walked into what appeared to be quite the house party in full swing, it took me three rooms to find her. The first thing I noticed was that the crowd was... "throwback". "Vintage?" The decor was a bit granny-chic. If this was a movie, I'd have to name it House Party 6 - Viagra's Revenge.
Someone was attempting to moonwalk to Cameo's Candy in the living room. One gent was rocking a shiny black leather bomber jacket with an eight-ball on the back. Another cat (yes, cat) looked just like Kool Moe Dee from the Wild, Wild West video. I know you young 'uns don't know nuttin' bout that. Here's a glimpse for you:
Complete with hat. Boots were black though. As I was cutting through the kitchen I overheard one colossal #HollaFAIL: "I'm Dr. Romance baby, just looking for a head nurse." Just. No. I did notice that they were serving real food at this party. Somebody had been on the grill. Folks were posted up eating brisket, grilled chicken, corn and potatoes. An R. Kelly song came on and a woman old enough to be my mother put her plate down, swiveled her hips and said, "That's my jam!"
This stone groove was one step (maybe two) beyond grown-n-sexy. All that was missing was Don Cornelius and a disco ball. As I circled the living room I saw my friend, very tipsy and attempting to Step in the Name of Love with what can only be called an old head. He was rocking a shiny shirt with some sort of paisley print and pleated ironed jeans of a light blue hue. To be conservative, I'll say old boy was 55. My girlfriend is 36. No ma'am. I walked over and gave her a wave, "Let's go." I pointed to the door.
A Cap Daddy in a green velour track suit sipping champagne straight from the bottle (through a STRAW) came dancing over. "Cutie, you're not leaving? We bout to get it poppin'!" My mouth fell open, "Ummm." Did I want to know what the black Baby Boomer set considered getting it popping? No. I was a little scared. He leaned in a little closer, "Sweetie, you date older men? You could be my fountain of youth. Know you cook with your thick self." Le Deep Damn Sigh. Seriously? This is what it's come down to?
I turned to my girl and raised my voice, "Girl, you have 30 seconds to bring yo ass or I am leaving you with the Sunshine Boys. Test. Me." She finally focused in on my face, saw that I was serious and broke free of Grand-Dad. As we walked towards the door, two men in Cosby sweaters (again, not joking) offered to walk us to the car.
As I unlocked the doors, one of them asked if we wanted to meet for brunch at Waffle House the next morning. That's a negative. We declined politely and drove away. My girlfriend says, "Some of them were really nice, you should have stayed and mingled."
You know what? I'm not mad at the AARP party. But I'm not there yet. No Sugar (Cap) Daddies for me. Regardless of what my twitter folks said about guaranteed income on the first and fifteenth of the month (I hate y'all!)... I can't do it.
I guess love can come in all packages. BougieLand, how much older or younger are you willing to date? Ladies, ever been tempted to get your Anna Nicole on? Gents, are you gonna be Larry Kinging it at 75? How do we feel about geriatric cocoa? Thoughts, comments, insights? The floor is yours.