We go to a kinky film festival – short films, an arts centre out in the middle of nowhere. The ticket collector is a big man decked out head-to-toe in a pink frilly little girl’s outfit – from pink sequined shoes to pink ruffled bonnet. He is carrying a giant multi coloured lollipop. I love that. To my disappointment, he is the only one who has ‘dressed’ for the occasion.
I am wearing killer heels, jeans, a sparkly black top. My lips are, just for the event, a dark glossy red, an aggressive bold colour, a colour I never wear.
We watch the short films, a couple are interesting, some funny, most not even mildly erotic. We hold hands in the dark and I cross my leg over his, he pulls me against him. We are cocooned there together, sweetly wrapped up, we whisper in between each film, we don’t care about the movies so much.
Afterwards, they have interviews with some of the directors and actors in the films. We sit through quite a few, and ironically, just as I let my boy know that we are leaving, and we get up and move towards the door, the speaker starts talking about short attention spans… I pinch my boy’s arm and we stifle giggles like children.
We get out of the cinema, laughing. There are some people milling about. He helps me into my coat and I hear one of the men waiting in the foyer say something to my boy. He replies, matter of fact, “I know…”.
When we get outside, I ask what he wanted, the stranger. My boy shrugs, “He just wanted to tell me something.”
I roll my eyes, “Yeeesss… What?”
He looks at me and tilts his head.
“He said, ‘She’s beautiful’.”
I think of the way he responded, unhesitatingly matter of fact, and somehow it gets me just right, it is perfection. He gives me a crooked smile. I laugh. I take his hand and we head off to find a bar to talk about bad films.