Last night we enjoyed the Holy Grail of babysitting-the Overnight. Ruby stayed at my mother's house, we stayed out until three with our friends John and Donna, drinking wine at a bar called the Gingerman. Jmart, the most cheerful guy I know, sat at the end of our table playing scrabble on his phone and missing his wife, who was home with a bad allergy attack.Jeff and I act like wild animals when we have "The Overnight" drinking too much, staying out too late, completely forgetting that we are parents at all. Jeff mentioned that he ran into a man named Sugar Weasel at a bar last week. Donna perked up. "Sugar Weasel? I have his card!" she dug around in her purse until she found it and passed it around. Sugar Weasel is a "clown escort" from Austin whose card features him lounging fully nude, in full makeup, with his flaccid penis on full display.His site (www.sugarweasel.com also http://sugarweasel.blogspot.com/) makes it clear that he is not a prostitute, per say, but "anything else that may or may not occur is a matter of personal choice between consenting adults of legal age." Jmart looked closely at Sugar Weasel's card. "UGH! You guys! He has clown makeup on his ball sack!" "No way," I said."Give me that." I looked, he did have white clown makeup on his junk. Classy touch. "I get the business model," said John,"I get the male escort thing-but he loses me when it comes to the clown stuff." "Clowns are creepy, man." said Jmart. "He was creepy," said jeff."And kind of a dick." We all looked down at the card. That sounds about right, I thought. But I am now fascinated with this clown escort and I want to order him for someones birthday party. Better yet-order him to show up and strip at someones bachelor party. Or baby shower. Funeral? I don't care-I just have to do it. "Baby!" I yelled to Jeff."Get Sugar Weasel to come dance for my birthday!" "Sure, sweetie," he nodded. Then I heard him telling Jim that he could "just say yes to whatever she says and tommorow she will forget she wants it, like a toddler.Last week it was North Korea, this week its Sugar Weasel." "I AM GOING TO TAKE SUGAR WEASEL TO NORTH KOREA!" I yelled. At this point, Donna was so drunk her eyes were closing and she fell off the bench. I caught her, at the last minute, because no one likes to see a grown woman pass out in a bar.
(Actually, I would have liked to see this very much, but I am trying to repair our relationship-which has been somewhat strained since I snuck into her house and stole my jacket back, finding it in her closet and hiding it under my dress "I lost your jacket!" she said. "Bitch. Find it." I told her. Then she saw me wearing it, and almost slapped me. It is jacket worth fighting over, maybe even dying for.I brought it last night, in case it got cold, I looked over and suddenly she was wearing it again. We almost came to blows-that awkward I'm joking but not really tension when you are trying to be cool but really it's dead serious. I had to pull it off her body, but it wasn't that hard. She was wasted.)
We all stumbled home to doze the light, fitful sleep of the very drunk, visions of sugar weasels dancing in our heads.
Sunny Haralson was born in a house of ill repute. After acing the first grade, she ran away to join the circus. At night, while the elephants slept, she learned how to spin and sew from the spiders. She made whimsical creations for the trapeze artists, who needed their outfits to be both beautiful and comfortable. Magpies brought her shiny objects to embellish the costumes with, if they sometimes accidentally brought an eyeball they'd plucked from some unfortunate, she forgave them and quietly popped it into her mouth. The circus, for all it glorious adventure, was often low on dietary protein.
When she tired of circus life she retired and set out alone to the desert in a stolen hot air balloon.
It's there, in a tiny FEMA trailer, that she writes her tell-all memoir. She steals ideas from the coyotes and writes them down with needles made from the giant cactus that guards her doorway. The UPS man never sees her face.