june must be the e. month, because all of a sudden i get a visit from ms e. she is the eternal girl with a slender upper body and a bootylicious lower body that can enslave men with a flicker of her lazy hand. she is my mate-in-arms in most battles fought in NYC pubs and bars, the perfect wing or attack woman. she is the one whose stories i will appropriate when i become an old and tipsy aunt.
we walk and talk about our past conquests, stolen long haired boyfriends and fights with drunken hobos on the subway. i know that when drunk she is prone to singing “mamma son’ tanto felice”, and remembering everybody as blonde. she knows i tend to dance and bang my head. we remember her weird fascination with a hard rock cover singer ten inches shorter than her, and my own embarrasing infatuation with firefighters and cops (anything in uniform really). i am a firefighter groupie, she is a hair band groupie.
she fulfills a side of me that is normally under wraps. she views men as quarry, for which you have to prepare carefully, study their daily habits and learn their routines, and find a weapon who is going to stun them only. unapologetic in her quest for the perfect one, she is much more daring and focused that she gives herself credit for. she has suffered heartache, pain, and humiliation (courtesy of a stubbed-head dolt from our motherland) like i have, but she is not discouraged by it.
we have a mutual understanding of each-other if you will. we have a few stories together (that time with those guys at that bar who did those things), our shares of bagels at dawn, and of headbanging at night. she did steal that guy from me that time, but she also shared her cigarettes with me. we’d driven around on her parents car on a learner’s permitt, bothering strange men with parking assistance and thanking God no cops were around that night we drove on the wrong side of the highway. she has an unexplainable envy of my chest, being that nature has given her more than enough gifts, and that i would kill for one man swooning over my memory (this guy i met had a literal heart malfunction when i mentioned her name).
yes, yesterday was a good day. i enjoyed the enthusiasm of the cab driver, the silence of the teenagers and the admiring looks of a hubba-hubba hunk on the other side of the street. none of them were for me, but it was nice to bask in the after attention. thank God for beautiful friends. and thank God that those beautiful friends are my friends.