I pulled up to Bond Street Social on Thames around 12:30am and three lovely women climbed into backseat:
- the Dear in the Headlights Breastfeeding Mom with 5 month old at home;
- the brunette Protector-Enforcer with push-up bra that would make even Janet Jackson blush; and
- the blonde, perfectly proportioned Rebel in black, skin tight everything and wedge ankle boots.
Protector-Enforcer dispatched a slurring male from sharing the ride and we headed toward Eastern Ave. and Highland Town.
Rebel suggested going to a party but Protector-Enforcer thumbed toward Mom and said “no, her boobs are getting bigger by the minute.”
“Can we listen to some music?” Rebel said.
“Sure, what would you like?”
“Celine Dion,” Protector-Enforcer said.
“Are you serious?” a visceral response on my part but they thought it was hilarious.
Turns out their mothers listened to Celine religiously while our lovely women were growing up and to deal with the trauma they play her music loudly when they’re drunk. And sing along. Loudly-er.
“You’ve never heard this before,” Rebel said from the back and she was right.
She kept yelling for me to turn it up and, dissatisfied with my apparent non-compliance, climbed into the front seat to take matters (and my hat) into her own hands.
Finally, to keep my speakers from blowing, I gently pushed her hand away from the volume controls and she grabbed my hand, held it tightly and waved it back and forth for the duration of two songs as if conducting an orchestra.
Do you know how long Celine Dion’s songs are?
When we arrived at Mom’s house we were mid-song and Rebel said we had to keep driving. “We have to! We have to!” she yelled over the music. I glanced in the rearview for Protector-Enforcer’s approval; she nodded. So we kept driving and they laughed like children as they screeched along to Ms. Dion. I laughed, too, and winced at the high notes as I weaved us in and out of Canton’s dark streets.
Cruising down Boston St. Protector-Enforcer yelled, “that’s our turn!” “You have one minute left on this song!” I yelled back. “Oh!” she yelled and Rebel yelled “I like this guy!”
When we pulled up to Mom’s house Celine was put to rest and Rebel drunkenly and somewhat seriously debated whether or not she’d return my hat. Protector-Enforcer “suggested” that Rebel should do so and I drove off with The Beloved Black Hat covering my goddamn thinning spot while they stumbled to Mom’s front door, laughing.
Best fun I’ve had in a long time.