WCC 78

Alright, I'm not sure what number we're at on WCC events but I knew I didn't want to go with 69 and I don't think we're at the 100 mark as yet so I just picked at random...I picked my ideal temperature in F--if you must know.

Thursday, I spent the day gathering the ingredients required to prepare a St. Germain cocktail--I found the liquer on E. 89 which saved me a trip to Union Square--I picked up a cheap white from Best Cellars and had club soda at home. As a bonus, the nice lady selling the St. Germain found me a gift pack which came with a lovely French carafe with the words St. Germain set in a very Victorian font. This amazingly refreshing liquer made from elderflower picked by bohemian men in the Swiss Alps hints at a light mix of lychee, pears, and citric goodness (minus the acidic undertones).

I hopped the 6 to Union Square with a pitcher of the cocktail and some chocolate with fruit on the side in the hopes of perfectly complementing the night of movie watching WCC-style.

I stood in the square awaiting a harried post work Z who to my surprise strolled over carefree in a pair of khaki, cargo shorts and a black polo with the GIANT ensigna circa CT 2007 except he had a white long sleeved shirt on under it which suddenly pushed us back to that late high school early college trend of boy layering (timestamp 1997). I couldn't help but smile.

Immediately he relieved me of carrying the bag of goods--such a gentleman--and we hopped back on the train to Water Taxi Beach in the South Street seaport. He let me have the seat on the subway and I stared into his widening face...noticing the creeping salt flecks on his black pepper head. Sometimes in these moments, I know my expressive face gives me away--I beam up at him. Despite himself I feel him beam back at me. We're like 12 year olds on our first unsupervised picnic--it's absolutely platonic yet utterly tender.

At the beach we learned that Time Out NY was hosting a singles event and we shared a split second desire to pretend we were on the list...our eyes met, we shrugged, and passed--entering through the non-event opening. For all his talk about modernizing gender roles and dreaming of living like a kept man, there is a chivalrous side to him. It's a side I think I probably see the most. He hastens to do the line standing and the bringing back of food. He let's me sit to save spots and fill the cups covertly under the table. There is a division of labor and whether or not he acknowledges it, I think on some level he is both aware and appreciative that it exists...at least between us.

We people watch. We eat oysters and seasoned french fries. We look out at the magnificient Brooklyn Bridge. We drink white wine. We talk about nothing at all. We talk about our exes. We sit.

Once the singles event is underway, he immediately nudges me and points out the one Indian guy who obviously works in finance and realistically lives in Jersey City or Hoboken. As if I'd needed nudging, I'd spotted him as soon as he stepped into my line of sight. Freshly starched white shirt tucked into grey slacks, gold watch glinting in the sun and standing a shade under 6'. Yeah. I saw him.

A few moments of mockery pass and I poke him, nodding at the Asian (maybe Filipina) girl in hideous shoes standing beside the Indian and his shorter friends. Z laughs. "I literally had the same thought process. She's cute but those are ugly shoes." I chuckle.

We walk across the bridge. On my suggestion we don't take the short cut. We overshoot the exit on the Brooklyn side because there is no feasible way to exit without bringing harm to ourselves and possibly others. He's still carrying the pitcher and I'm still slowing us down with my shorter strides. We follow the crowd to the park for the first in the 10th anniversary season's outdoor movies of this series: Raising Arizona.

We lay a blanket down under a tree. I drink 3/4 of the pitcher but he still has to pee first. What's with boys and their tiny bladders? Invariably, I too must avail myself of the portapotty--UGH--I'd forgotten JUST how vile the whole enterprise was. I swear I'd rather squat in the woods sans poison ivy or even along a deserted road than climb voluntarily into a portable toilet. Shudder.

On the return to the island, he consults his precious iPhone. The same device I insisted on calling ChitChat to his chagrin just months ago at a SAIFF movie screening...he pulls it out to proclaim, "Let's ask ChitChat the way." I slip in. It's subtle. He can fight it but eventually he finds himself using my words, albeit just at me. It happens. I'm careful to smile to myself. It wouldn't be wise to let him see my pride. It's the smallest of victories but it is my victory nonetheless.

We part as the F train lurches to Broadway-Lafayette. He walks the few blocks north and I switch to the 6 train with my requisite pee stop at Bleecker St. Bar. I can't count the number of times I've stopped to pee there. Love those guys.

Another successful WCC. Next up, Harry Potter: The Half Blood Prince at Kips Bay on July 15 at 8:15pm. In 2D since we couldn't bear to wait another week to catch a mutually convenient 3D screening--he's already secured us tickets to ensure entry--I can only imagine what a zoo it will be of veritable Potter fans. Viva WCC!