Sunday Morning Ritual

Steve and Miranda rounded the corner of their favorite ice cream shop. A very attractive young gentleman jogged past them in a stylish track suit.

"Good morning!" he said with a smile.

They both smiled back.

"What a nice man." beamed Miranda. "Too bad he's making me feel guilty."

"He reminds me of my ex." said Steve. "Except he smiles and is nice."

Miranda gave him a half smile as they walked through the heavy wooden door. This was their Sunday morning ritual. Breakfast at Saveur, usually the salmon and eggs, then ice cream at Heladito. Neither one of them were heavy, but they weren't that slender either. Gourmet everything certainly takes its toll after awhile.

"Eventually I'm going to need exercise on a regular schedule. I've reduced my indulgence as much as I can" whimpered Steve. "There's no way I could give up Sunday mornings. It's all the sloth I have left!"

"Don't make me obsess over that too! You know how easily I do that!" retorted Miranda as she ordered her cone. Steve stood behind her, lecturing to the floor tiles with vigor.

"I'm not mad at myself necessarily. But I've been letting myself go this past year. You know it's true. Honestly I have no regrets. It's been a delicious journey but now I have to go home and pay the bills stacked up behind the mail slot in the door - so to speak."

"Hey Steve. Shut up. Order some damn ice cream." It never failed to amaze Miranda how poetically Steve could insult himself. It was almost magical. She pushed him to the counter while taking a big bite out of her caramel cashew nut supreme.

The two made their way out of the store with ice creams in hand. The sun was out, but it was still chilly at noon. Steve zipped up his hoodie.

"Mark Twain." he said, turning to Miranda.

"Mmm." she nodded with a mouthful of ice cream.

Mark Twain had once allegedly stated "The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco." Each time the sun would go on sabbatical and clouds would come crashing in from the bay, licking the hills with wispy tongues of dripping fog, all Steve or Miranda would have to do is say his name. The rest took care of itself. Like a secret code.

"I hate hot weather though." said Miranda once she had swallowed her ice cream. "It's so nice to wear a jacket in August, you know?"

"Yeah. The more I can cover up, the better I feel." Steve said, his mouth full of cherry chocolate fudge.

"Stooooop." said Miranda. "You look good in shorts. Trust me."

They walked past a men's clothing store. There were three mannequins on display who obviously hadn't heard of the quote by Mark Twain. One was in a tank top and shorts, the other was in a swimsuit, and the third sported a short-sleeve Havanera shirt with linen pants and flip flops. They stopped in front of the window.

"Someone should give them jackets. Or at least a blanket." said Steve.

"I think the one in the swimsuit is making eyes at you." smirked Miranda.

"Ha! Funny. Nobody makes eyes at this." Steve passed the pointer finger of his free hand around him in a circle.

"You can't be serious. Someone HAS to notice your hotness. I bet that mannequin would jump right under that blanket with you. Rowr." Miranda laughed.

"You're too funny." said Steve, deadpan. "No - really it just doesn't happen. I'm not...whatever. You know? It just doesn't happen. It's totally fine."

"What do you mean?" Miranda attacked the ice cream dripping down her fingers with one lengual swoop.

"Well, when I go into a group of other gay men, or when I see them around, none of them have ever "made eyes" at me. Ever." He crammed the last bit of cone into his mouth.

"How do you know that?? Are you constantly looking for it?"

"No, but I think I'd know if it happened. I'm not hideously ugly, I would never say that. I'm just not really that much to gaze upon. It's ok. Really! Sometimes it bothers me but usually I'm fine."

"I think that's ridiculous. I can't believe nobody has ever looked at you in that "If there weren't other people here I would rip your clothes off and throw you on the table" kind of way. You can't tell me that has never, EVER happened to you." Miranda's eyes narrowed.

"Well...ok fine. It happened to me once. That's how I know it hasn't happened since. It happened to me once and I've never forgotten it."

Miranda folded her arms, her ice cream hand dangling the tilted cone toward the street.

"Well?"

"It happened really fast - but there was eye contact so it felt really slow, you know? We were walking past each other and he looked right into my eyes and smiled the most wonderful smile I've ever seen. His kind energy penetrated my whole body and passed through my soul. It was good I kept walking because it probably would have taken out the taco cart behind me."

"Wow." said Miranda. What happened after that?

"Oh I just kept walking. I was late for a doctor's appointment."

She shook her head, unfolded her arms and finished her ice cream cone. "See? SOMEONE thought you were fantastic. You can't say nobody ever has before."

"Maybe he did, but it was just that one time. I can't accept it at face value either because I'm pretty sure he was a prostitute, or at least a coke dealer."

"Why? Where were you?"

"At the B.A.R.T. stop on 24th and Mission. You know, by the shelter and that McDonald's the Health Department shut down after someone found a finger in their milkshake."

"Oh yeah. He probably was then." resigned Miranda. "Damn."

The two friends linked arms and continued on their walk.