Line Of The Night

I met a co-worker for a drink in the village early Friday night, and afterward, she was taking a cab up to 59th Street before heading east to Queens. So I got out at 59th, and not even a minute later, I remembered there was a going-away party for a co-worker I don't really know, and it was right in the area. I just didn't know where.

So as I looked up one friend's number to find out where it was, he called, and it turned out I was just a couple of blocks away from Sofrito, where I would spend the next two hours.

But the line of the night came after I got to my neighborhood Irish joint, Trinity Pub, just a block or two away from the crib. Two gals were intrigued by my "My Mom's Chili" T-shirt, and a conversation ensued.

We actually talked for quite a while, long enough for it to be relevant to reveal that I used to prefer blondes, and that I earned an odd reputation back in college for performing an overrated sex act as often as possible back then. I'll never remember the gal's name, but what she said was outstanding.

"Oh, you need to meet our friend Mary-Ann; she's a bad-ass dry humper."