How To Be A Klepto

Saturday night before hitting the bars (and getting in a bitch fight), my Biff and I went to dinner at my friend's parents' house with her boyfriend and mommy and daddy to celebrate her birthday. We had a fabulous time chatting and drinking authentic Puerto Rican sangria made by the Puerto Rican boyfriend, and after a few glasses I of course had to use the restroom. There, Drunk Me discovered and coveted a pair of colorful retro aviators. I tried them on and admired myself.

When I emerged, I asked if they were my friend's younger brother's, who lives at the house with his parents. (A few years ago, he was my roommate in LA, but that's a story for another time.) He was lurking about, had eaten dinner with us but was mostly hiding in his room. The answer was yes, so next time I saw him I caught his attention.

"Hey. You know your sunglasses in the bathroom?"

"Yeah?"

"They look really good on me."

(pause for laughter)

(longer pause)

"You can have them if you want."

That was totally not the intent of my comment, but I guess my subconscious manipulations were effective.

Hey, free sunglasses!