Since I don’t have to work until 1p.m. most days, I still get that wonderful, lazy Saturday morning feel. I let myself sleep in and take my time getting ready in the morning, unlike most other mornings. This Saturday, Travis made blueberry muffins and coffee.
That night we went out in the East Village. We went to happy hour at a funky little bar and met up with Travis’ co-worker Dan. We felt very proud of ourselves for getting out there, but we were in a taxi heading home around midnight.
“You going out somewhere?” our taxi driver asked.
“No, we’re just heading home,” we apologetically told him.
“Oh, so you are party poopers.”
“No, we’re just older than we look. Old souls if you will.”
“You look like you are 15.” After a bit of a pause, “You know they are going to deport you right?” he told us.
“Deport us? How could they do that? We are from here!”
“No, they will deport you to party pooper island. It is no fun there. Everybody goes to bed early and no liquor and no talking to the opposite sex.”
“Well, that sounds horrible.”
“It is a horrible place. You don’t want to end up on party pooper island.”
“Please don’t report us to the authorities.”
“They’ll figure it out. They’ll show up at your apartment, and if you’re home at an early time and sober, they will send you to party pooper island.”
“Thank you for warning us.”
I thought I would share this warning with you all.
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