Morning comes and out of habit the daily breakfast is prepared in tandem with a housemate. Sharing a pan for our respective bacon and our respective eggs, my eye adores this creation that has become a daily treat here in our Fire Island house. A vegetable wrap blankets the two strips of bacon, the one egg (scrambled), and the generous proportion of Monterrey Jack cheese. This is done out of habit.
Just after two another housemate announces that we are to join him for lunch. Demurring his offer politely, but firmly, I retreat to the roof deck to battle the tempermental BarrierFree wireless connection. With the holiday fever pitch at last relenting, it is a good time to check in with the outside world. But my name is called, insistently, then repeatedly. A plate has been prepared and must be sat down to. The quarter roast chicken and gnocchi are picked at and eventually half-eaten. This is done out of politeness.
As the rainy afternoon glides by eventually the Heineken mini-keg that I've named "Buddy" (and is perhaps the best invention of the twenty-first century) beckons from it's refrigerated refuge. Buddy's spigot is pushed and cups fill, multiple times. This is done out of freedom.
A housemate's idea of running to the Pantry agrees with the intoxicated mind. What is a beer-blast anyway without dogs and ears of corn on the grill? Without chips and a chipolte salsa? (And again the happiness that I am not among "fancy gays" pleases the mind.) These comfort foods turn out perfectly and fill the appetite yet again, although the left-over birthday cake is passed upon. This is done out of gluttony.
The excitement of seeing Margaret Cho perform with some of my favorite superstars (Tigger, World Famous BOB, Dirty Martini, Mike Albo) and actually shaking the nimble hand of the (dare I say) beautiful Ms. Cho yet again excites the brain cells (sparse as they may be at this point). Since it's "beer then liquor, never been sicker" the beer blasphemy continues into the night until the final visit with a new-found, former footballer friend to dear Buddy. This is done for, well, no particular reason.
Morning comes and we housemates reconvene. Breakfast options are presented me and denied, with an eventual feel of persistence. Fearing that yet again a plate will be presented me and that out of habit, or politeness or freedom or gluttony, the food will yet again be consumed, my secret of the past two days, the detail omitted from every conversation preceding this one is revealed.
"Guys. I've had the most nightmarish case of the runs for the past two days."
This is done out of self-preservation.