Chris's posts

Eggs are Eggs – by: Chris

I am sitting at this ultra swanky brunch place that our manager pulled some strings to get us a reservation at and feeling sort of out of place. I’ll take a greasy spoon diner any day. Hell, eggs are eggs, why are they suddenly “gourmet” if you serve them on a funky piece of china and add some kind of cheese that nobody has ever heard of anyway? I keep sneaking glances at Odette who looks like she is scheming to break the glass of the aquarium and free the fish. That makes me smile and I guess I began to chuckle out loud because Dave keeps shooting me strange glances. He’s actually been sort of weird since last night after the show when Odette and I made up. Ha. Well, not that we actually talked about anything, but she wouldn’t want me so much if she didn’t want me back right? And, man she did want me.

I felt like the freaking rock star I am last night when I signaled to the bouncer to let Astrid and Odette back stage. Even thought Odette’s pushing 30 and Astrid is not too far behind they were still the cutest girls in there and I wanted Odette to feel special as she was whisked past all those screaming girls with their ironed hair and weird eyeliner that made them all look the same. I know that Odette has felt insecure about her faint, soft curves ever since Zoe was born but I loved to kiss that minuscule bump when we made love. I loved all that it represented – four years on the road and the miracle of carrying a human being. And, she finally has an ass worth looking at after she put on a few pounds. Damn, I love this woman.

Dave doesn’t think I am being honest though. Dave doesn’t think I should give in so easily. Am I? I meant what I said in my letter – she fucking owes me an apology and it doesn’t seem to be forthcoming. Odette got away with everything and I am the schmo who is left with….. what exactly? What do I really have other than a new-found fear of getting herpes from that man whore Odette was with. Damn those PSA adverts on the subway. Or, God forbid I have Aids now. Dave is right. I better get tested. Hell, Odette better get tested. If we were talking I would ask her if they used a condom but frankly I don’t think I want to know that level of detail. Ignorance really can be bliss, but should I be asking her for the facts? Will I ever get over her cheating on me if I don’t know everything that happened?

I turn to Odette hoping for something; some sign of remorse, some signal that all is well again and this was all some sort of sick nightmare that we are finally waking up from. But, she is looking down – texting. I’d like to think that she is checking in on Zoe but my heart has the sinking feeling that she is writing to HIM. I turn instead to Astrid who is charming the hell out of everyone, as usual, with one of her funny stories. I try to shake the unsettling feeling I have from seeing Odette with her phone and begin to laugh as Astrid begins to pantomime the expression on the clerks face when she tried to return the lipstick she didn’t mean to steal in the first place. I am happy, aren’t I?

The waiter glares at me as I ask for tabasco for my eggs instead of his freshly cracked pepper. As he tries to tell me about some god damn truffle butter they used to gently saute the eggs in, Odette wordlessly looks up from her fish and pulls a tiny bottle of tabasco from her purse. Astrid cracks a joke about Odette and her famous Mary Poppins bag of tricks, which makes us all roar. How could I not love this woman?

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