smitten

Mom always told me that marriage always came first. Otherwise, a family would give into a weak foundation. In honor of mom’s advice and their fifty one years of blissful marriage, Shane and I left Hunter with Auntie Vanessa and painted the town romantic. We intend to do this at least once a month, but babysitters in this town come at a lofty price. Thank god for friends and relatives.

We drove along King Street as we embarked on the romantic view of the Bay Bridge. We silently took in the scene of the lit cityscape as the full moon kissed the bay. We were headed to destination unknown, “Where do you wanna go? We could do dinner or we could do a movie?” Shane was always open for anything. My hunger made an abrupt decision for dinner. As we are creatures of the (easily mistaken) pretentious food phenomena, we thought we’d through caution to the wind and head for North Beach.

The Parking Fairy obliged us with a rock star parking spot. We walked hand in hand past Saint Peters and Paul church with the full moon lighting our path. The cold wind whipped my hair in different directions as my outfit was best suited for summer. We perused the menus on Stockton Street, but twenty four dollars for spaghetti and meatballs only victimized the European visitors who could afford such leisure and lack of quality in food.

We turned the corner of Stockton and Columbus and there it sat Café DeLucchi. As I recall, the home made pasta here reminded me of my time spent in Florence. Shane flitted for the wine list as my thirst yearned for mineral water. The menu, just as I imagined, was traditionally simple, good, and cheap. Shane reminded me that he wasn’t famished, but ordered skirt steak and gnocchi, one of the lighter fares on the menu. As my mind lectured my body that a salad and soup would benefit from my vigorous workout at the gym, I went face first for the Caesar salad with white anchovies and the lasagna. Our dishes were light and delicious just as expected. Shane’s gnocchi were pillows of clouds; delectably fluffy. We headed next door for dessert gelato.

I thanked him for dinner as he, in trade, thanked me for the gelato. We walked arm in arm to the car with the menacing wind cursing our movement. The Madagascar vanilla gelato only contributed to the frigid factor of my outfit best suited for summer time. Shane, usual knack for impulsive urinating, headed for Washington Park and before I could caution him of homeless or ongoing gay activity, he disappeared behind six foot bushes. I sat in the passenger seat as harmful thoughts wildly intruded my head. My heart raced as it would be our luck that he is raped by a big hairy gay man dressed in cheap leather costume or stabbed by a homeless person. My heart faded to normal when his silhouette emerged from the bushes. His mischievous smile struck from ear to ear.
“Were you accosted by a gay man or did you pee on a homeless dude?”
“Before I knew it," He interrupted with a laugh as words seem to choke him, "I was peeing on some homeless dude’s leg!" He paused to laugh again, "All I saw was a pair of Adidas.” His childhood laugh was contagious.
“Did you aim elsewhere?”
“No," He choked and paused and choked, "I couldn’t.” He continued with his infectious chuckle.
“So you just continued to pee on his leg?”
“Pretty much.”
“Geeze.”
We both laughed for a whole five minutes before putting the key in the ignition. Mind you we were still parked three feet away from the suspicious bushes.

Shellie's Mantra: "Young grasshopper must achieve the pinnacle of nirvana with laughter and urination."

The full moon witness to our recent occurrence parallel our drive home bound. The delightful thought of Shane, urinating on a poor homeless person in the bushes of Washington Square Park, was the highlight of our night. For most females they equate flowers or poetry to romance, a good laugh always makes my heart grow fonder.

This is Shellie urinating behind closed doors back to you Bob at the studio!