Let The Good Times Roll

Dinner was fabulous.  The company divine. And it didn’t hurt that we polished off two bottles of champagne before the dessert menu arrived.

The waiter came over to the table.  “Can I tempt you with something sweet?”  He handed the award-winning menu to us.  Looking at all the yummilicious choices on the dessert menu, I mentally said, “Yeeeees!” to all.

After we finished our gastronomical delights, we walked back to the hotel hand-in-hand like a couple of school kids.  I was much more relaxed knowing the truth and TFH seemed more comfortable having told me the truth.  A secret can weigh down even the most anorexic of anorexics, so it was wonderful to see him lighthearted and playful.

By the time we reached the hotel, I had to use the ladies room…but not to freshen up this time.  Consuming two bottles of alcohol nearly did me in.  I’m an easy drunk.  I get giddy and laugh at everything.

"I don’t suppose I need to follow you in?” asked TFH, with an impish grin as we stood outside the restroom in the lobby.

“Noooooooooo!” I said, simultaneously hiccupping.

We both got hysterical.  Easy drunk, I thought about myself.  What a hoot.

I wasn’t planning to write about this part of the evening because frankly I didn’t think anyone would believe that I actually got locked in the bathroom.  First the elevator and now this.  What must you think?  Well, they say…And who is they anyway, having so many opinions about everything and nothing…that truth is stranger than fiction.  I hate to generalize.  I hate to repeat clichés…but, it’s true, isn’t it?

Picture this.  I’m in the stall doing my, well, <<ahem>>  business…and minding my own if you know what I mean. When I finished, I couldn’t open the door. The deadbolt, like why is there a deadbolt in the stall anyway? I’ve always wanted to know that…but I digress…would not budge.  So, I turned it the opposite way only to jam it tighter.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  It was ludicrous.  I was drunk.  The lock was stuck. Now what?  I didn’t really know what to do, so I kept repeating the same ritual, probably making the lock only more difficult to budge.

I yelled, but TFH didn’t hear.  I kept calling out for help, but no one came.  The lobby is heavily carpeted, the bathroom large. Acoustically speaking, I was in a sound proof room, which was beginning to feel like a tomb… I figured I might be in there for awhile.

My choices were limited.  So, in my girlie, feminine dress and stilettos, I somehow contorted my body, which is now close to six feet in heels, to squirm, wiggle and slide my body under the bathroom door.  It reminded me of the Limbo when you have to shimmy under the pole.  Do I slide out head first?  Legs first?  The commode was in the way and I had to make an immediate decision.

With a bit of champagne under my proverbial belt, I was laughing hysterically.  So much so that if I were a cartoon character I would have literally laughed my head off. There it would be, spinning across the floor like a dreydl during a Chanukah festival.

With one more force of determination, I abandoned the stall and as luck would have it~ my luck that is,~ the bathroom door itself was locked, too.  Maybe they lock it after hours.  I didn’t know.  Through tears of laughter, I kept calling out for help.  Finally, I heard TFH’s voice and another man.

“Oh! Don’t tell me. You’re locked in the bathroom?  Really?  How do these things always happen to you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, completely speechless.

In broken English, the Italian janitor asked what the problem was as he opened the door effortlessly.  I’m sure I must have loosened it for him somehow, I rationalized.

The janitor looked at me like I was a pathetic American wearing a slightly disheveled, slightly dirty dress-which irritated me since his job was to keep the floors clean.  My pretty white dress was not supposed to be repurposed into a chiffon mop. My job was to leave the facility like a proper lady and sashay into the arms of my hero once again.

I don’t know what to say.  Blame it on Rio?  Blame it on champagne?  Somehow these things just happen to me.  Or I happen to be at the right place at the wrong time…or is it being at the wrong place at the right time?  None the less, it doesn’t really matter.  All I know is that TFH and I ended the date with peals of laughter, affection and a night to remember.

TFH walked me back to my room.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh,  I, uh...” stammered.

“What?”

“Well, I kind of have a date.”

“You what?”

I looked down as though I was inspecting my shoes.  “Well, yes.  It’s more like a blind date, really.  I haven’t met him yet.”

“Oh.” 

TFH was silent.  I suppose I should have been used to that but after our evening of romance topped with a cherry of sheer silly delight from the bathroom escapade, the spell was broken.

“His name is David.”

“I don’t care if his name is Goliath.”

I smiled like the Cheshire Cat.  He was easy.

He cocked his head and looked at me.

“Yes, Michelangelo’s David.  He’s tall, fair and well, down right cold actually.  No need to be jealous.”

“Right.  Marble.  I’m going to accompany you to the Galleria Accademia.”

“Really?  That would be wonderful.”

“I can’t trust you to be out of my sight for a minute.”

“Oh, come on.  I’ll be alright.”

“If it weren’t for the bad luck you have…you wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

He cupped my face in his large, soft hands and gently placed a kiss on my lips.

All I know is that heaven and earth moved, and I’m sure somewhere fireworks were lighting the sky as our bodies intertwined.