The server stepped over. “Oh, can I get another glass of wine?” she asked and looked at Kevin. “I guess I won’t get a grip on my weight issue tonight,” she continued. “I have cellulite, too, all over my legs. I’ve spent so much money on lotions and treatments to get rid of it, but nothing works.” She took another drink of wine. “I’m not an alcoholic, oh, but I’ve dated my share, well, I’m not sure I’d really call it dating, per say, but…” She laughed mischievously. “I finally had enough when I was going to go on a date with this one guy and he asked me to pick him up at a meeting. So I show up and discover this meeting was an AA meeting, a mandatory, court-ordered AA meeting!” She looked at Kevin. “Can you believe it? And that wasn’t the worst. I once had a guy go into seizures because he hadn’t had a drink for a few hours. He foamed at the mouth and everything. I had to call 9-1-1 on my date. They took him by ambulance.”
Nicole excused herself to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom, she checked herself in the mirror while washing her hands. She was a little taken aback by her appearance. She thought she looked great when she left her place, but suddenly she felt she was beginning to resemble Tammy Faye Baker. She tried to wipe some of her mascara and makeup off under her eyes, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. She turned to the vanity to pick up her purse, but it was gone. “Oh, shit!” She stepped back into the stall and checked the back of the door. It wasn’t there. “Oh, my God!” She exhaled deeply as she left the bathroom.
When she got back to the table she told Kevin that they had to call the police because somebody had stolen her purse. He leaned across the table to reach for her bag on her side of the booth and held it up. “Is this it?”
“Oh, my God. Yes. Thank you! You are my life saver.” She plopped back down into the booth and continued with the saga of her life. “You know, it hasn’t all been fun and games. There’ve been times when I was really, really hurt, when I’d cry myself to sleep. ‘Why won’t somebody love me? What is so wrong about me? Please God, send me somebody, anybody. I just want somebody to love me.’ I could cry right now thinking about it. Oh, and thank God I can count on only one hand the number of times I thought I was preggers! Preg-gers!” she repeated, only louder and slower, leaning toward him to make sure he heard her. “Did I tell you about my homosexual boyfriends? I secretly want to have sex with them. I mean just because they are gay doesn’t mean anything to me, I’m still heterosexual. Ugh! They open their shirts or pull down their pants to show me their well hidden tattoos, and I have to catch my breath. They expose their muscular chests and their tight butts. Mmm-mmm!”