It was their first time visiting Lauren in the Windy City.
For the occasion I got four hours of sleep.
It was another dumb sloppyhot day in this town.
We kept cool with summer cocktails.
I like Lauren's folks.
They're no phonies.
Lauren's dad, a longtime music teacher, acquired a french horn for our apartment. My girlfriend scored my cocktail-induced nap with muffled scales from the living room. I awoke to the savory aroma of dinner.
Why has no one invented an olfactory alarm clock?
Lauren's menu:
Cheese and charcuterie from Spain and Italy
A tri-mato caprese salad of roasted tomatoes, fresh tomatoes from the Dowden's garden, and tiny marble tomatoes that burst and blast in your grateful mouth
Homemade ricotta gnocci in a homemade sauce
White peach crisp
We ate and sweat in the clammy confines of our modest kitchen.
Everything tasted delicious and humid.
During dinner, I got a call to see if I could PA tomorrow.
Normally I would say yes, but tomorrow Lauren's folks would be meeting my mom.
Work understood.
During desert, I got another call to see if could just pick up a truck in the morning and get paid for a half day.
I said okay this time.
After all, the big meeting would not take place between 7am and 9am.
Besides, when did I ever need sleep?
An inflatable mattress oppressed the living room.
The high velocity floor fan bullied the sound quality.
We watched The Party at high volume.
Peter Sellers and the heat hypnotized me.
In the trance my satisfied belly told me to sleep immediately on the mattress in front of the TV within the first eight minutes of the film.
I was out by the end of the set up.
Party animal or partly animal?
Verdict: Win
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