I got a blast from the past tonight when my dear old friend Pete with whom I'd studied abroad our junior year of college popped up on my caller ID. We were rolling on set so I didn't pick up. And it turned out it wasn't him, but his friend who also studied there with us. Here's the voice message. Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
"Hi January, this is Tom O'Connell calling you. Perhaps you remember a little town in the south of France... on the ocean beach... tying me up in the bed... and having your way with me. 'Cause I sure remember it. And I think it was a damn good time. So, Pete and I are sitting here hanging out tonight, thinking about it. We both have a bunch of kids now, and are married, sitting in the doldrums of life, thinking back to the wonder years. So just wanted to call and say... thanks. Bye-bye!"
Um... ah... you're welcome? No, I mean... Damn you Tom O'Connell, you dirty mid-30's year old man!... Uh...
This guy is still smiling thinking about a lay he had in December 1993? I suppose I could point out how utterly pathetic that implies his sex life since has been. Or I could mention that I remember no details about it except that it didn't happen again and wouldn't have happened at all if my roommates hadn't gone to Barcelona that weekend. I could also go into some depth on the array of emotions this message brought about this good Catholic-raised contemporary woman: guilt, mortification and the giggles, not necessarily in that order. I should probably mention that Pete and I have always been friends. It's not like 16 years has passed since we've spoken. And he's extremely good-natured, so I believe there was nothing ill-spirited by this call. So... here's what I think:
They were very drunk.
And I was very good ;)
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