Right after havdalah, he lit out for the Hollywood hills.
Destination? A party!
He’d removed his black undertaker suit but preserved his white cotton dress shirt. He added his best blue jeans, a black belt, black socks and his black Klondike Klodhoppers.
It’d been a long time since he’d gone to a secular party!
You know what they say about secular humanists? They do it before marriage.
Sabbath was gone, a distant memory in 30 seconds. His eye was now set not on a mythical theological queen but a flesh and blood queen, a girly, and Jewish, Baruch HaShem!
He was in a state of high anxiety. Where would he park? Those treacherous canyon roads. How would he maneuver? Perhaps it would be best to part on Crescent Heights, get a nice straight easy run in to the curve, and then hike a mile north, so what if there were long stretches without sidewalks and it was dark and there was lots of traffic?
Passing Santa Monica Blvd, he didn’t see any parking spots so he decided to push north. As he crossed Sunset Blvd, his anxiety grew. He felt the world pushing in on him as turned into the canyon and up the hill, looking for parking. He executed a three point turn at one of the first free spots and then it was onward and upward by foot.
Winded. How quickly he became winded. Was it the climb or was it the anxiety? Would he know anyone at this party? Oh, how he looked forward to tonight. Did his anticipation make the anxiety worse?
Party is in full swing when he arrives. He gets a hug from the hostess. He digs the strappy high-heels and the tiny little dress and the toned brown legs. He wants her to keep on the high heels all the time. All the time.
He needs a drink and he needs a conversation.
One, two, three water bottles later, and it is midnight and time to go home.
That didn’t go too badly!
