Last night, I joined ZMan and my sister and our friend F in Berkeley for dinner and dessert (gelato!) and a catching-up session. I’d not seen Z since our South Bay dinner back in November, and we decided it must have been a year (or even two) since I’d crossed paths with F.
The sister hadn’t been able to resist & refuse the Half Price Books down the street, so she came armed to dinner with a bunch of rocking books (including much poetry! and headwrap photos!) for us to flip through. Z was the mastermind (I mean, muthafuckle) behind this gathering, and celebrated his temporary return to Berkeley by calling us together on good ol’ Shattuck. Thanks to GChat, it didn’t even feel like it’d been so long since we last met. And F – well, F is by turns caustic, sarcastic, and hilariously inappropriate. Some people just never change, even though he would defensively retort, “No, I’m not!” whenever we groaned at his jokes and said, “Oh, F, you’re still exactly the same.”
Midway through the evening, after he had figured out I’m 27 years old, his response was basically along the lines of Whoa, you really need to get married. I just rolled my eyes and laughed, and F added with a wink and suggestive glance, “May you should just marry me.”
“Umm, you’re younger than I am.”
“But I’m taller!”
End of the evening: “Yasmine, let’s make a pact. If you’re not married in a year, I’ll let you be my second wife.”
“Dude,” I said, “what makes YOU think you’ll even have a FIRST wife in one month…err, I mean, one year?”
F: “I can get a wife in one month!”
I came home and changed my GMail status to:
still laughing about F telling me i need to marry a “rich man with a big army.”
As always, I love it when friends chime in with their own commentary:
HMan: you do :)
not guam big.
WHY do i need an army?!
HMan: stabbing lessons.
me: ahhh, that’s right
so i can train the army, and then they can conduct the stabbing sessions for me, wherever necessary
so when you say something that belies your height and someone demands “yeah, you and whose army,” you can be all, “my husband’s! that’s whose!”
and then make feminists cry
but then he’ll go out and marry a richer man, with a bigger army.
let him marry first, so you can get the last laugh.
you do not need a big army for that.
you need a ninja army for that!!
for ultra secret stabbing
this is why you should listen to me always
well, let me know when you get an army
cuz i am a ninja in training.
me: you are SO my first recruit!
And one last, hilarious memory of last night’s dinner, a disapproving comment from F, who refuses to engage in physical contact and only gives me “air highfives” (and that, too, only after I harassed him): “If you’re going to go around highfiving guys, you might as well move on to dating them.”
This, coming from a guy whose conversation is peppered with double entendres. I was so flabbergasted, I really had no response.