Feels good just to sit here with a double tall cappuccino and ease into this Sabbath. My eyes are still heavy from last nights sleep and my body is worn from a week of running errands. The guy at the table across from me is wearing his Obama '08 pin, as usual, and the other bachelor, at his regular table, has no lady friend today. And guy number three, who gave a friendly "hello" as he sat to join me, is on his laptop- enough said. There's a pair of young girls to my right, but they might be older than I think, because they seem to be carrying a mature conversation. Which reminds me, my company and I had a great conversation last night. Very candidly, one of my guests shared about the first time he saw a naked woman. A mere recollection of the memory, and his eyes became wide, while a sheepish grin and rosy cheeks dressed his face beneath. He went on with his story...
He and his parents were over at a friends' house from church (something like a Sunday afternoon brunch), and he, being the lone kid, was quite ready to excuse himself from the awfully boring and mediocre conversation that had accompanied the roasted pork and applesauce. Besides, he assured himself, the lemonade he slurped down just minutes before, was calling for release. Dismissing himself from the table, he rounded the corner, leaving the dining room, and followed the faded blue carpet down the hall and into the guest bathroom. Flicked on the light switch, dropped his pants and made himself comfortable on the padded pink toiled seat. It wasn't long before he discovered the stack of periodicals and dated magazines on a dusty old shelf above the wastebasket in front of him. Stretching forward, and leaning down at the same time, he slowly pulled one out, from the very bottom of the stack.
Perhaps an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sweetie, you okay?" asked the boy's mother. CRAP! How much time had passed? Was everyone waiting on him to go home? Had someone been waiting to use the bathroom? Tossing the magazine to the floor, he quick stood up, tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. Jamming the magazine back onto the shelf, between all the Good Housekeeping’s and National Geographic’s, he reached for the sink counter to steady his stance. Remembering that his Mother was outside the bathroom door, waiting for a reply, he managed to get out “I’m okay, Mom. Be out in a sec’.” His mind, though still in a fog, was racing, and his body couldn’t seem to make any sense either, of what had just happened in that powdered blue and pink bathroom. He glanced at the overflowing shelf of magazines, checked himself in the vanity mirror and turned the doorknob. Flicking off the light, he rounded the corner, leaving the bathroom and strode down that faded blue carpet. Life was good. Immensely good.