Sunday Night

I didn’t get home until six in the morning Sunday night.

Well, Monday morning really.

I haven’t been out that late since my first year of college when on those few delicious nights youth and alcohol and a sort of desire to be lit on fire colored everything.

Sunday night was its own delicious something. Unexpected and unplanned and a ride that once you were one, nearly impossible to get off.

There are some things that I believe each and every woman should experience at least once in her lifetime.

This is a sampling of my list, to date:

1. Having a total stranger approach you in a bar. And then placing the palm of his hand on the small of your back as he whispers into your ear—in a thick French accent--just how beautiful you are.

        2. Weathering a period so lacking in physical intimacy that you take to getting hour-long massages in a room sectioned off with bed curtains, just to remind your body that it is in fact a physical thing. (This builds character).

        3. Finding yourself one night, four in the morning, on hour three of a karaoke bender with your best friend and six men you’ve never before met, only to reach over and touch one of the men’s ankles and realize oh, that’s a gun under his pant leg.

It is about number three that I’d like to now say, no, they were not part of the Russian mafia, of that I am quite sure. And it should be noted, there have been few times in my life I’ve felt so safe.

But that's about it. That's all I can say. Mostly because I know almost nothing personal about any of the them other than where they were born and raised and where they’re currently living. If that.

And because given enough white wine I’ll say and do just about anything, they know quite a bit about me. (I’ve been known to vomit information). And yes, okay, there was a moment I emptied all of the contents of my purse onto the table. But in my defense, they asked. The items included the book How to Be a Woman (they were unclear as to why I’d need such a thing), my wallet, a postcard and some things I'd best not disclose here. (Absolute class, don’t ever let it be said that I’m anything less). I was then informed that you’re never meant to reveal any of this stuff and didn’t I know that? Damn.

I’m quite sure I even handed over my license.

But you know, I wouldn’t have done it any differently. I wouldn’t have changed the hour I finally opened the door to my apartment, or any one of the many, many songs that I shouted across the room toward the scrolling words. I wouldn’t have changed my poor attempts at flirting or the occasional filth that flew from my mouth. Because those things happen so rarely and it was nice to remember that yes, in fact, I’m that woman too. That woman is always somewhere, at any given moment, within me, within reach.