I was recently sitting at the bar at Albino Press with BrandonCutie to write. He writes the comic book Witchdoctor and since he has that writer mentality of working in the same space and not distracting one another, he’s one of the few people I can consistently work in the same space with on creative endeavors.
I took a break from my chapter to write a mass email to my local girlfriends asking them to keep me in mind for any nice guys they knew that needed a date. And if my said friends were instrumental in getting me laid after May 10th, then I’d get them a day at the spa.
As I wrote those words and hit ‘send’ to all my female Portlanders, I started laughing out loud.
“What?” BrandonCutie asked, looking up from his screen.
“If I offer to buy my friends a day at the spa for contributing to me getting laid… does that mean that in a round about way – I’m actually paying for sex?”
He chuckled, “Well, it’s sort of third party so it’s more like paying a pimp – but I guess that’s also sort of paying for sex… hmm… that’s a good question.”
I sent him the email so he could see what I was talking about and he began laughing. “Yes, I see your point.” He grinned. “So you think this will work?”
“God! I hope so!” I shrugged and ground my toe in the floor, “Sooooo, being as that you’re one of my dear friends, if it gets really bad, like May 10th rolls around and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel, I know you’re not into me that way but if it was an emergency – would you take one for the team?”
I should mention that at the time of my asking, BrandonCutie was wearing a very dapper and stylish suit. His vest and coat ensemble only lacking a watch fob to complete the picture of a perfect gentleman with his umbrella cane.
I should also mention that as I asked the question, he squirmed – and shuffled, and took a deep panicked breath. “Weeellll, I – uhm, let me, uhm.” He adjusted his glasses and stood straighter, squaring his shoulders and was about to answer, when I rested my hand on his arm.
“Don’t feel pressure to answer now, we still have 2 months to find a solution. Just think about it please.” I winked and poked him in the side. “But you so totally don’t get the spa day for offering yourself up!”
He heaved an enormous sigh of relief and smiled, “No, I don’t suppose so – because that would definitely be like paying for sex.”
And as we walked out, I said, “Sorry to put you on the spot like that, I guess I was just so overcome by how great you look in that suit.”
He straightened the vest and stood a little taller, and we talked about the next days we have free to get together and use the momentum of writing in the same space, the following weekend.
And he showed up wearing his snazzy suit.
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