This Entry Rated "R" for Adult Content

“You're too cute to be with guys!” said cross-dresser? transsexual? drag queen? in the Lava Lounge last night after I broke the news I was married. She tried to charge me a kiss for taking her photograph. When I turned her down, she tried to persuade me that J would enjoy watching.

Not so much, I assured her. She shrugged her shoulders and began flirting with the other patrons. I laughed and recounted the exchange for K, as it was too loud for her to follow our conversation.

Last night I put on a dress more expensive than my wedding gown*, put my hair up and slipped on a pair of 2” patent leather black pumps to go out to dinner with seven other people.

This year it was at Mallorca, dinner for eight at the civilized hour of nine pm. There was some debate over the time when J made the reservation, as certain members of our party were concerned that if the complicated equation of win/losses worked out, they would miss the final Steelers game, the one that would put them in the playoffs.

The Steelers lost on Christmas Eve, thus ending the debate.

Mallorca is an odd restaurant. The food is excellent, but the service can be uneven. We arrived early to have a drink at the bar and wait for the rest of the members of our party. When the final two members arrived, we were hustled to our table only to discover that it was only partially set and missing napkins, silverware and glassware. After multiple attempts, one in our party managed to flag down a staff member to get napkins for the entire table.

Once we had all the appropriate tableware and drinks, we settled in to enjoy the rest of the meal. During the meal we were entertained by the delivery of meal flambéed in a dish the shape of a pig to one of the tables and cheers from the kitchen when one of the waiters carried in a round of beers for the cooks.

Until dessert. In which my streak of being unable to receive the first (or sometimes second) item I order remains unbroken. This time it was the tiramisu. Which was served to two other members of our group before I was informed that the kitchen had run out.

The staff was rather distressed when I exclaimed “Oh, no!” and began laughing. One of the guys who received his order of tiramisu offered to give it up, but I waved him off and ordered the chocolate cake instead.

Post dinner was spent at the aforementioned Lava Lounge, where the girls danced to 80's hits, the guys stood at the bar watching the coats/bags/cameras and we all made a lot of noise when the ball dropped.

*I acknowledge the sheer vanity of posting a photo of myself in the dress. I don't care.