I let the valet park my BMW convertible Z3 and entered the restaurant, immediately recognizing the back of M.'s head, talking to an older couple at a table. He introduced me -- old friends of his parents. I wondered, what must they think of us? Not knowing that, not only did I know M.'s parents, they had been my in-laws, and M. had been my husband ... I wouldn't be surprised if they had thought: Nice couple.
I laughed a lot. He laughed a lot. I drank a martini and two glasses of chardonnay. He had some gin drink and two glasses of bourbon, on the rocks.
We caught each other up to date with news of friends and family. I looked at him and tried to remember a time when he was "mine." I couldn't.
We talked of his girlfriend and her kids. I felt little.
Then we parted, dedicated ourselves to a renewed friendship, and I waited for my car.
The valet parker finally came to tell me that someone "had hit" my car in the parking lot. I crumpled the $2 tip I was going to give him and stuffed it into my purse. I followed him to the lot and took from him the slip of envelope onto which the woman who had "tapped" my car had written her phone number. I called her; no answer. I left a message.
I waited for the valet supervisor. Finally, both the valet parker and the supervisor came to the lot, and said they had no responsibility for the accident, which was a deep gash in the driver's side door. I asked for my valet fee back. They gave me the $10.
When I got into my car, noticing the changes in the vents and the a/c-heat, the woman returned my call. She was apologetic. I'll call her insurance company tomorow. Meanwhile, I opened my glove box, and my BMW zippered case of manual, insurance card, etc., was unzippered. And the expired license that I keep in my car "just in case" was gone.
Clearly, I shouldn't have been where I was tonight. And though I'm glad that I stuck my neck out there and returned home with it, I'm not ready to play in that world.
I like my own, thank you very much.