So I walked into the Members Cocktail Party at the MOMA
A man approaches me and says, “Hey. I’m 6’ tall, 185 pounds, spiritual not religious, income: I’ll tell you later. I like NASCAR, a cigar, hot dogs and pizza and boxing. I’ve seen American Sniper three times and I think Lady Gaga is a freak and Kimmel – they guy the Oscars- is a whack job. Can I buy you a drink? And what are you tipping the scales at, Tiny?
I climb the stairs to the American Pop Collection and another man sidles up and says, “I’m average height, average build, love to snuggle and to shop at Victoria’s Secret.” (What? A cross-dresser?) He continues, “I live in Santa Rosa and I won’t drive more than 10 miles to meet the woman of my dreams -who, by the way, is ‘Barbie.’ How old are you?”
Some fancy dance work and a quick escape right, to the Interactive Architecture and another man advances and says, “Hello, beautiful! Let’s skip the small talk: I’m Scorpio, very lonely, never married, no kids, live alone; I have a very, very, big, bike. Can I take you for a ride? I dig the White Housee Twins: Sean and Steve” and “Fifty Shades of Gray” is on my bedside table. Want to read it together? What’s your income?”
Hasta la vista, baby!
Deftly, I exit down the hall, a quick left turn to see the Diane Arbus. Luckily, I happened upon ‘Mr. Santa Clara.’ He is my height, my age, big smile and twinkling eyes – introduces himself and says his interested in talking and eliminating the mindless chatter about astrology and pets – if that was okay. And then he said, “Your picture doesn’t do you justice.” (A.k.a. The six sexiest words on Match.com)
He proceeded to ask me questions about me and my life and he listened.
We talked and walked right into the American Pop and later found ourselves in front of a Warhol and a Lichtenstein. We continued – walked, talked and ended up standing in front of the spectacular new Liz Fracchia painting.
The museum was about to close…and the party was not over.
We have been together every day since.