I tried writing a poem to answer this question, but the words flowing from my fingers were absolute shite, drivel, excrement. And so now, I kick it into desperation mode, and try to get SOMETHING, ANYTHING on the page to share with you, Dear Reader, so that you won’t leave me for somebody else, a more adept writer/humorist/truth-teller….someone who better suits your needs and without all the baggage besides.
Of course, I made a list, Tim Gunn, Desmond Tutu, Ron Paul, Tony Bennett, but WTF would we talk about? It would be one-sided; an embarrassing 15 minutes of a gushing, babbling me and then nothing…awkward silence as we both realized that they have no reason to be having lunch with ME. So I scrapped that idea too and moved back to the one that I’d had at the very beginning. Because the best ideas are the ones that sit, waiting patiently at the back of your head while you whore around with the other, less suitable, less true ideas.
I would, of course, choose YOU. You right there, sitting at your computer, staring at my words and silently judging them. I’d choose you in your pajama pants, your t-shirt, your underwear, with your beautiful eyes ticking left to right over my thoughts. I’d choose you because you’re real and true and genuine, and no publicist has gotten her hands on you.
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share a beer and some onion rings with, talking over martinis or straight shots of whiskey and tapas. It’s your truth and your humanity that recommends you so highly, your own brand of humor and wit. Your fast and slow smiles and spectrum of laughter and that story about that thing you did that one day when you thought no one was looking.
There’s no itinerary for our chat, no bulleted list of topics to cover. We’re people and we offer these things up to nature. I’ll walk in that door, blown in by the wind and spy you there in the corner. Two beers please! Tout d’suite! And a hug and a glint and like that, we’re off to the races.