is there a sign on my forehead?

It’s hard to fake it when you have a pink stamp on your left hand.  Clearly, I’d been out, and not at some local bar out; I was out out. The smile on my hand was my first tell.  My lack of saliva, the second.  The bitch of it is, I wasn’t really planning on going out at all.  I was heading home, rubbing my eyes, but then I worried if I’d gone straight home, I’d have had less of a weekend. My Friday night would have ended before it began.  I wanted a beginning.

If I’d gone home, now would be Saturday light out instead of Saturday 3:10 am dark out with corner Gray’s Papaya breath.  I’d have had less of a weekend if I’d just left work and landed here.  But when you invited me to meet you at the bar Friday after work, all I could think was, “to hell with people.”  I didn’t want to do the small talk, the "No, really?  And, how was your day?" thing.  I didn’t want to do impressions.  I wanted to relax, and that’s the last thing I’m doing when I’m majoring in perception with a minor in trying.  So I said I was going home straight from work, “too tired,” I yawned.  I meant it.  But the bar where my friends were was remotely on my way to a cab, so why not?  I’m sure you’ll have issues with it, even if I never hear them.  I’ll see them and taste them in your afternoon kiss.  “I thought you were too tired,” you’ll prompt.  You want to know why I didn’t find you.  Why wasn’t I with you?  I would ask all those same things if I were in your black shoes.  I’d take it personally.  But from my blistered feet, I know it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with effort; I was spent.

I didn’t feel like people.  I felt like person.  Connect with one, unplanned, spontaneous, right after work, how can I make your life better?  Sauvignon Blanc, that’s how.  And now it’s 3:15 am, still dark out, make up off, in my sweats, and I’m home, with the DVD going, a minty mouthwash mouth, a bun, and a bed.  And yeah, a tell of a stamp reminding you I had a life without you all night, by choice. 



  1. Stephanie,

    Again you describe a situation I all too clearly understand. Despite that I live in the midwest, where Taxi route's are not a good excuse, I too have pulled the night out alone on more than one occasion. You consistantly resonate with me, although our situations and circumstances differ greatly. This is why I read.


  2. And THAT is one of those defining moments you wrote about. Can he handle the fact that you might enjoy a moment, a evening or a drink without him?

    And if he did that, would I be able to handle it?

  3. Everybody has the right to call an audible on when to end–or begin–an evening. (Except perhaps for Cinderella, but when you boil it down, all she really lacked was a cab option after midnight.)

    It's a simple calculation: The stamp on your hand will fade in a day… but the gnawing feeling of opportunity lost hangs on alot longer.

    (Nota bene: Anyone thinking about getting their palm stamped in order to hide the evidence… should probably just stay home.)

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