Too Darn Hot

She hit me with all that glorious hair and all. The audacity!

There we were, Jack and I, standing in line at the Roxie. Saturday night and the hustle-bustle of the Mission was palpable. It was an uncharacteristically warm night for San Francisco. The kind of Indian summer night that could've inspired Cole Porter's complaint that "I ain't up to my baby tonight/cause it's too darn hot". Neither were we up for anything much, so it was off to the movies and if we were lucky, two hours in air-conditioned darkness. Across the street, diners at the Picaro were sipping sangrias and picking hesitantly on plates of tapas like they were picking pricklies off a cactus. Too. Darn. Hot.

There we were, Jack and I, hot and bothered and nevertheless minding our own business as usual. Then BANG--"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Who...wha--?" Smack into me. That hair. That hair in those jeans in this heat!

Jack, ever the protector, pulled me back instantly as we came face to face with this chick who looked like a throwback from the '80s. Hair like a tidal wave, cascading all the way down to her butt. Black turtleneck (in this heat?), shoulder pads, black jeans tucked into black boots (in this heat?). Looked to me like a Bangles wanna-be. Shocking as she was, the tsunami hit two seconds later: my brother. Right next to her. Sporting that lost-at-sea-without-an-anchor look, to belabor a metaphor.

"Oscar," I started. It was more a question, really.

He started with a stammer, then stuttered, then sputtered. Didn't think he'd manage anything, really. But when he finally did, he wouldn't stop. "Oli... ye-you remember Rebecca... ra-ran into her th-this afternoon... sh-she works for a client of ours... th-thought we could go grab dinner... we're working late on this project, you see... a project for their company and then it was seven and we hadn't eaten... all day... so busy... just a quick bite... here in the Mission... there... at Picaro... don't you remember... we went to school together... high school... basketball team... just grab a bite to eat... there at Picaro... heard they had good tapas... just a quick bite...."

Oscar babbled on and on like the damned on judgment day. And as we stepped up to purchase our tickets, all I kept thinking was: all that hair!

And poor Janine.

Home alone, having to wear that wig.

Too. Darn. Hot.