Midnight Run For The...

We were having a conversation this morning via Skype in anticipation of our upcoming visit this weekend. My show is going up Friday night at the State Thespian Convention and Jed is coming in to see it. Being in different states makes for a very lonely engagement; I don't know what we would do without Skype. Be sad and lonely, I suppose.

Anyway, through the course of the conversation somehow he mentioned in passing something about Taco Bell's new taco.

"What's new about it?" I asked idly, not expecting too much. C'mon, it's Taco Bell. And while I am out of touch with the real world since my fast food choices are currently limited to three and I don't watch much television, I was still personally a little miffed that I am not keeping abreast of fast food developments.

"It's a giant Dorito shell."

Suddenly I found myself focused with the laser-beam like intensity usually saved for when he's playing backgammon or when I am perusing shoes online. "What kind of Dorito?"

"Does it matter?"

"WELL!" I said. "I know somebody who's going to be making a run for the border in Vegas this weekend."

He sighed. "Well, I hope that peeing from the butt does not ruin our time together."

?

?!

Amid laughing so hard I couldn't breathe and admiration for a description that is accurate it creates instant empathy, I managed to gasp out that until now I had always preferred the term 'perfect storm of poo.'

"I just picture that scene from 'Malcolm in the Middle,'" he said. "You know, the one where Lois buys the bigger bed and Hal gets upset and is screaming 'HOW LONG HAVE YOU FOUND ME HIDEOUS?!'"

"Will you respond with 'What time did you eat that taco'?" I asked.

"I'm just saying it's probably pretty hard to be aroused right after you finish doing the toilet seat pommel horse," he said.

"Yeah? Well, I will defeat you on this," I said defiantly. "What do you don't know is that my system is trained to digest Taco Bell. I spent years doing late night drive-thru quests!"

"No," he said thoughtfully. "In fact that is not a defeat. Frankly, sweetie, if you can digest that crap without killing us both from the aftereffects I'm seeing nothing but a win/win, here."

It has made me rethink my original plan. An extremely limited three days together while chaperoning Beasties and putting on a show was already going to take its toll; spending any spare time turning the bathroom into a gas chamber and/or emerging announcing "Hey, don't inhale in there, you'll get cancer," may be the death nail in the coffin titled "Romance and intimacy are not synonymous."

On the way home, though, after my sweet boy has left me and I am returning to the hinterlands once again feeling even sadder and lonelier than usual? All bets are off. I'm eating like six of those suckers. Because if I am sad and miserable there is no reason everyone on the bus shouldn't suffer with me, too.