Being gay in San Francisco is nothing exceptionnal, and that’s what make it exceptionnal.
A few days ago, I was enjoying the quietness of an evening home, the doorbell rang and drew me out of my thoughts. I opened the door and a cute lady in her thirties handed me over a lovely bouquet. Unused to selfless good-hearted gestures, I was at first a bit startled but then deeply moved by the initiative. How kind of my wife to buy me flowers! And there was a note with the bouquet! And…it wasn’t from my wife but from Jennifer who thought Amanda was “amazing!”
That’s San Francisco! On one hand, nothing comes in handy and you often have to redo everything at least four times before making it work. Like delivering flowers to the right person. And on the other hand, it’s really not uncanny to read a note from a Jennifer that says “You’re an amazing woman.” Too bad Amanda would never get her flowers. Though, I obviously gave the bouquet back to the delivery girl who went to double check the address.
My mind drifted off once again, leaving my carrots unattended and eventually overcooked – I’m a mess in the kitchen, especially when it comes to carrots, there’s nothing in between “too soon” and “too late”, they all turn fifty shades of black in the end. – when the doorbell rang again.
It was the delivery girl, and she looked even cuter than the first time. She was still carrying the same bouquet. The address she was supposed to deliver it to was definitely mine, and since she didn’t know what to do with those goddamn flowers she begged me to take them. Which I did! After all, if Amanda was amazing, I shall be too. I hope Jennifer would still get the girl’s attention and that they’s fall into each other’s arms and live happily forever.
All she had to do was to get the address right this time…
translated from the French by IMNSX