I survived the Valentine’s Day party. Barely. Tiara showed. Still don’t know how I feel about seeing her. It was nice, I guess. She went easy on me about the lack of wolverine. Wish she hadn’t snuck in the Vicodin, though.
“They’re from your mother,” she whispered.
Typical. My parents never want me to leave this place. On the other hand, maybe they do. Perhaps that’s why they had my girlfriend smuggle in V, so I’d get thrown out?
I can’t tell what they want from me anymore.
Others seemed to have a much better time at the party. “Debbie’s” whole family showed up. They’re like a whole bunch of “Debbies”; heavyset and full of glee.
“Your Valentine’s doilies look as though they were made in heaven!” a jolly male “Debbie” told me.
I thanked him. To avoid further chit-chat, I then pretended I had to go to the bathroom. I’m not a fan of chit or chat.
Alone in the bathroom with Vicodin in my pocket was not the best place for me to be. I stared at myself in the mirror, weighing my options.
When I returned to the festivities, people were exchanging Valentines. My card from Pat O’Brien was a paper napkin with his autograph on it. Instead of a dot there was a little heart over the ‘i’.
“Don’t go selling it on e-Bay,” Pat told me.
People started dancing. Tiara grabbed my hand and we swayed back and forth a bit. Felt weird being so close to her. Thank god Sheryl Anne wasn’t there.
“I’m proud of you that you’re trying to get help,” Tiara said.
I didn’t quite know what to make of that. I reminded her of the “gift” she brought me from Mom, but she ignored it.
Then Pat O’Brien cut in.
“Share the wealth, Ad-Rock,” he said.
I watched them dance, Pat O'Brien and my girlfriend, wondering how many days it would take until Tiara would stop smelling of musk. I guessed four. All depends on the wind.