A date with Darren

Aaron has become a sort of Shuck's taxi service as of late. This doesn't bother me because I am probably his best customer. When I say customer I mean to say that he picks me up for work and drops me off at night and doesn't ask for any payment and doesn't seem to mind it at all. I'm not really being a customer at all, then, more of a "moocher" but that sounds bad.

A few nights ago, we had the pleasure of Wendy's company on the ride home. Tonight it was Darren. Darren is a funny sort of man. I would like to note here that I am using the word funny in two of its connotations. He is, in fact, quite comical. Aside from that, he's also funny in the "quizzical" sense. He likes to say really off-the-wall things to me and then when I either a-blush, b-say something back, or c-salute him with a finger and a grin, he goes, "You know what, Moira, you a trip!" Darren is, in every way, the bigger trip in our relationship. He's ridiculous.

Of all the things that Darren likes to tease me about, there is one issue that is his personal favorite. You see, a few months ago, Darren got wind of proof that I am not (always) a prudish hermit who has no fun and sits at home knitting and watching Matthew Broderick movies every Saturday night. As it turns out, Darren finds the idea of me even talking to a member of the opposite sex to be amazing.

Anyhow, after "hearing all about" me, Darren latched onto whatever it is that he heard and dug his claws in. Hard. He asks me at least three times a night how my man is doing. I always divert this comment into something about Joey or Mark. They're safe and fun for me, I enjoy acting like I am in love with them both.

On the ride home tonight, he asked again.

"I heard about you and your man. I heard all about your date."

Puzzled, I turn around.

"What date was that?"

"You know, you went down on the Battery. You sat in your man's car on the battery eating a pizza that you had delivered to you."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

At this point we start asking questions. What kind of pizza was it? Pepperoni. I tried to convince him that it was Hawaiian, but he insisted. What color blanket did we sit on? No blanket, because we didn't leave the car. We just turned the heat on. We drank soda "or sparkling water, whatever it is that you drinkin'". We tipped the delivery man two dollars and offered him a slice of our pizza. Darren was especially annoyed by the fact that we were both such terrible tippers. (I generally tip any delivery person at least five dollars, FYI, Darren.) And so on and so forth. He was so insistent. And so detailed. I asked if he was really that lonely that he sat around and daydreamed of a date for two people who aren't dating. He insisted it was all a reality.

I think that's the reason that I don't mind Darren's outbursts. They're hilarious. And they make me feel a little bit more normal.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cold slice of heaven waiting in the fridge for me...