The Rosé We Hate.

I can’t believe I bought a rosé. And I don’t even drink. And if I DID drink, it certainly wouldn’t be a rosé. Now, I’m stuck with a bottle I neither like nor respect, and I wonder to myself, “How on earth did I get here again?”



A couple of days ago, I was getting pictures done. The photographer said, “Are you married? Dating?”. I said, “Nope! I’m single!”. She kept saying, “No way!” and I kept saying, “Yup! Single! Some things just don’t happen.” (If you want me to smile and continue to look pretty, it’s probably best not to talk about it.)


I don’t know how else to explain it.

I was walking home from a dancing class. It was about 10:30 PM. Not too late… but late, I think, for a weekday night. As I came up to my apartment building, I saw a guy leaning against the fence. Normally not a problem, you think, except for the fact that NOBODY around here does that. You just don’t see it. Guys just hangin’ out, leaning against a fence.


Naturally, my suspicions were raised.


I noticed our new security guard watching from the driveway. As I passed, I could hear Fence Guy start to follow me. I’m thinking, “No way… he’s seriously going to try to come into the building behind me?!?!


I do a quick U-turn from the walkway and head back to the security guard, totally taking Fence Guy by surprise as he was right behind me. He has no choice but to keep going to the door. There’s a keypad. I know he doesn’t have a code. Also, he’s crazy drunk and can barely stand, much less punch in numbers on a keypad.


After a few minutes of talking with the new security guard, Treyvon, I decide to approach Fence Guy, who can’t seem to make sense of something on his phone and the keypad.


“Hey! Where are you going?”

He sways, “Myyyy hotel…”

Dude, this is so not a hotel. There’s a keypad!

“Which hotel?”

“The Marriotttt…..???”


Treyvon points to the east. “That’s the way to the Mariott.” I think it’s more to the south, but I’m not saying anything.


We lead the guy off by saying, “You go that direction! You go that direction!”. Fence Guy goes off and heads NORTH. Totally the wrong direction and just on the other side of my building. So, of course, I have to follow, with Treyvon in tow. As I turn the corner, I see Fence Guy leaning up against the fence. Again. So I say, “Hey! Where are you going?”


He slurs, “You wanna get a drink?”


(I’m thinking no way. I don’t drink. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be with you.)


“Nah! Where are you going?”


He stands up and slurs a bunch of incoherent stuff, and somehow, we finally get to the Grant Hotel. Now, The Mariott and the Grant Hotel are two entirely different types of hotels. One is very tall and modern. The other is very historic and old-fashioned. And I know exactly where the Grant Hotel is.


“Make a right here, go down two blocks, then make a left, and you’ll get there.” I start shoo-ing him along. Fence Guy is stubborn. Doesn’t want to go. Tries to bring up the drink again. I shut it down. Fence Guy finally goes into the next block and towards a crowd of people. He is not our problem anymore.

“You see that, Treyvon?” The lights of the gaslamp district make Fence Guy look like a movie-studded silhouette. “Never underestimate my ability to drive a man off. Look at him go, Treyvon. No one can do it like I do it. Expert Level.”


So here I am. All alone. Without a protector. Is it really all that bad?






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