Wife goes out last night. I drink a bottle of red wine. In my office, listening to the stereo, got it cranked up, Mexican rock band. I get misty eyed about Ramez and so I send him a text message. I know, smack me.
To jog your memory, Ramez is my marketing intern that I slept with last year. He’s now 32, single, part Mexican, part Chinese. I’ve known him for 8 years.
Much to my surprise, he returns the text and sends an El Paso number with message “call me”. So, of course, I do. He’s all happy, been Christmas shopping with his brother, he’s a clothes animal. He’s chattering along. We know each other pretty well. But I’m different, I’m more confident, I’m not a humble or fleeing person normally. The tiger is out.
“Chris, I’m really your type of guy aren’t I?”, Ramez playfully asks. Why yes you are. I then quite explicitly tell him what I’m planning to do to him the next time I come to Mexico. Silence, then he giggles, “Oh, Chris that’s so bad, when are you coming down to visit?”. Bait taken.
I have long ago learned to defer to Prof. Tim on all matters Mexican. A fine connoisseur, Tim can sniff a guy and tell whether he prefers corn or wheat tortillas. I think he’d be proud of me in this new moment. Now to go find that Mexicana flight schedule …