i was forty, then eighty-something, then pretty good-looking for sixty-five

the gray brille cream in the hair is one thing. so is make-up to make you look middle-aged.

but when you're in someone's basement bathroom peeling off bits of powdered and heat-dried latex that looks like skin and making it look like you're some human-snake hybrid and staring at all of the highlights and lowlights painted onto your face and there's eyeliner on your teeth and you stare at the mirror hoping you age more beautifully than the lead opposite you and you look at the things around the sink and outside the medicine cabinet and you realize that this guy has more stuff to put on his face every morning than you do, all after performing a deathbed scene and going all stanislavski on everyone's ass, there are questions to be asked.

like: "what on God's green earth...?"

by the by, sir, a few things: first, alan does not look like he shares either of our chromosomes. well, maybe my face, but probably because we're both so damn cute. it's hilarious, though; i just thought i'd mention it.

second, i have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful friendship, as i think this is heading in that direction, but if not, and if any, and i mean any, sentiments that were previously harbored are back in port right now, keep kissing my head. if not, then i don't know--that's just your personality, i guess. (what has two thumbs and reads into things a little much?...oh hi, nice to meet you.)

and third: even with the gray still in your hair, i have to admit you were looking pretty dapper in that tux tonight.

you are partly to blame for my sore ankles tonight, because you twirl and spin me more than anyone else, and almost all to blame for the big mental grin my mind is still holding.

-d