I jut got back from a delicious meal of bison burger with the lovely Melissa B. It was a make-up dinner of sorts, as I had missed the absinthe-induced, pizza-scraping, private bar extravaganza that was her birthday.
We laughed as we sipped Arnold Palmers and spoke of pheromones, Martinelli's, Lil' Kim, and other top secret subjects.
The topic of cats came up, as it usually does when we are together. She gave me the updates on
Nico's diabetes
Poos' new toupee business
and, of course, Bootsie's puking schedule.
Coming from anyone else, it be equivalent to hearing about my Aunt Cecil's bunyons. But when Melissa speaks of cats, it's the most profoundly captivating information I've heard since they told me where babies come from.
"Melissa, I love all the cats in your life."
She shrugged and made her life's declaration.
"I love all the cats in the world."
Sigh.
I would just like to take a moment and publicly appreciate Melissa. My sincerest condolences if you haven't had the pleasure to spend 5 minutes with her. Because that's all it would take for you to fall madly in love with her, or at the very least, completely reexamine your horribly inadequate wardrobe.
I could write a sonata about the way she looks in a dress, and I don't even play for that team. At least, I don't think I do. Melissa will make you reexamine that, as well.
She's perfectly unaware of her perfection.
A girl's girl and any boy with half a brain's dream.
One minute she's the classiest broad you ever met, and the next she's sitting in the gutter with you sharing a taco from the truck.
If you need a murder themed cake, help putting leotards on puppies, or just someone to share buffalo with, she's your ace.
How could you not love this girl? I sure do.
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