you are viewing archives from 2005

a toast!

I don’t know what to write about this week, I told A. last night at dinner.

Write about how wonderful I am?

I think I do that a lot.

Yeah, but this way, you’d have one more.

Our drinks come. A Nigori sake for him, an Imperial Fizz (champagne and peach schnapps) for me.

Is it my turn, he asks?

Yes.

Here’s to you, who makes me a better person.

We clink glasses, and I burst out laughing.

He smiles.

I was trying to come up with the Most Insincere Toast, Ever.

You succeeded.

We drink.

Except that it’s true, I add.

He nods. There is that.

...

This morning, 10am. A slice of sunlight cuts through the curtains, reminding me that it’s a new day, and people are out in the world, taking advantage of the daylight hours. My plan, of course, is to stay in my pajamas for as long as humanly possible.

I roll over to discover A. is already up and reading.

He looks at me. Eeeeeeeep!

Urk.

Ap?

Uck.

I roll onto my back and disengage Daisy's paw from behind my neck. Do you ever wonder what people would think of us if we had our own reality show?

They’d think we’re weird.

Weird? I’d go with batshit crazy.

There is that.

...

A few weekends ago, A, and I went to a benefit for the Dog Adoption and Welfare Group (D.A.W.G.), the organization I volunteered with when I moved to California. It took place at the Santa Barbara Polo Club, which is actually a polo club. A. and I made our way around the throngs of people gathered to watch polo and checked in at the reservations desk. The women ticked off slackmistress and A. and gestured to the well-manicured lawn where people milled about the silent auction. A. fetched us each a glass of wine and found me talking to B., a woman I know through various animal rescues.

I just realized why this place looks familiar, she said, I was in a horse show here when I was six!

I smiled and sipped my wine. B. went to talk to another group of people she knew. I leaned into A. Do you ever feel so completely out of place? Like you’re some alien who’s crash-landed on some weird planet?

I thought it was just me.

I laughed. This wasn’t exactly the way I grew up. My mother was born in a refugee camp.

He clinked his glass against mine. Here's to progress.

We bid on a few silent auction items, but we were really there for a live-auction item: a trip package to Las Vegas which included a private plane plus two nights at the Bellagio. We go to Vegas all of the time anyway, I told A., this way it’s a write-off. He agreed, and it was the first item on the block. A. made his way to the front.

Do I hear $800? the Auctioneer asked.

A. held up his hand. Eight hundred.

A woman in the back held up her hand. Nine hundred!

A. waited as the bidding went up in increments of fifty. Eleven hundred dollars!

A man in the front bid. Eleven-fifty.

Twelve hundred dollars.

The Auctioneer looked around. Going once, going twice…

Was A. letting it get away from him? I piped up. Fifteen hundred dollars!

Going once, going twice…sold to the gorgeous redhead for fifteen hundred dollars!

I looked at A. We won!

He smiled at me. You outbid me.

What?

I was the one who bid twelve hundred dollars.

But…

No, that was me.

I could feel my ears go red. Oops.

He shrugged. Don’t worry about it. He clinked my glass. We’re going to Vegas, baby.

So here’s to A.:

the man who makes insincere toasts,
the man who makes nonsensical noises,
and the man who still paid for the trip after I outbid him.