Friday, July 14, 2006

Gene at work and I finally had a chance to grab lunch and shoot the shit about the TV gig and whatever. I asked what he was in the mood for and he said, “You know where I wanna go.”

Gilbert’s, the Mexican joint down the street. I hesitated because I had been there the night before with my girlfriend. After spicy tamales and strong tequila, my stomach felt like it had been banged around like a piñata.

Then again, that was Gene’s favorite place and with the job winding down, who knows when we’d get a chance to do this again. But that’s not the reason I didn’t object.

I didn’t want time spent with my girlfriend to change my behavior with everyone else, unlike so many people I know (or used to know).

Off to Gilbert’s we went. I was parked closer, so I would drive.

As we approached my car, Gene said, “Hey, Mike, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to open the passenger door for me.”

Jeez, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I had to admit, I always open it for my girlfriend, and it was becoming a habit with everyone.

“That’s nice, but don’t expect me to lean over and open the driver’s side for you,” Gene said. “That’d be kinda gay.”


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