A hot Indian for Friday Night

Due to the delicate condition brought on by last night’s activities, my day felt longer than usual. I must make a point to remember that boozy late nights and seedy strip clubs are a lethal combination for work the next day! Sheila was being extra considerate, even picking up our lunch of barbecued chicken with salad and chips from the makuti-thatched eatery set amidst the glass towers of Upperhill. It was after this meal and the cold drink of Krest soda water mixed with Fanta orange that I was back to my usual self.

I took a call from Mike’s wife mid-morning. She’s petite and sweet, and devoted to the needs of Mike and their 2 children. Ever the perfect hostess, I can sometimes sense her private torment over the nagging doubts that Mike might be playing the field. I have this affinity to detect pain; keeping my own securely boxed away. I also know that this demure little wife’s character runs deep, it would not be a shock to discover she has a secret lover stashed away somewhere.

When she called it was on her anticipated fishing expedition and I was able to dishonestly enquire whether Mike had ‘arrived home safely last night after leaving the sports club’ in Parklands where we are both bona-fide members. It’s a mental dance routine that requires little skill, weaving recklessly between fiction and truth. The club’s bar rarely serves past midnight and Mike would have arrived home at 3 am, and though his wife is aware of this fact she will not pursue it further.

I am now at home, watching some KTN before going out to dinner alone. I plan to visit a local Indian restaurant for some much-missed extra-hot lamb vindaloo before heading back home to watch a movie.

Being on my own means I can be who I really am.