Thursday, December 3, 2015

Bruce, You Brute!

            “Is it okay if I drop by for a little while?”

Allen did not answer right away, so I explained, “Ruth and I dropped by Mother’s nursing home, but Mother isn’t lucid right now. I was hoping that if we waited an hour and went back, she might be a little better.”

When Mother had entered the facility near my friend Allen’s house, he told me I could use his house for just such an occasion. I wondered why he hesitated, though, when I was asking to do exactly what he had offered. Finally he admitted, “I have a few friends over for a brunch, but of course you can come by.”

“We’ve already eaten, so food isn’t a problem,” I said.

I sensed more indecision, but then Allen said, “At least you’ll get to meet Bruce. I’ve wanted you two to meet, and he’s here with his partner.”

“Great! I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

 

Allen’s front door flew open only seconds after I rang the bell. An effusive greeter raised his hands and declared, “You must be Bobbie. I’m Bruce, and Allen’s told me all about you.”

“So glad to meet you at last,” I told him. “This is my friend Ruth.”

We walked into the house, and I noted that we had interrupted not just any brunch, but an all-male, all-gay, all-couples brunch. In addition, everyone was much younger than Ruth and me. She and I were in our fifties at the time. Allen was my junior by more than ten years, too, but none of our dissimilarities had ever affected our decades-long friendship.

Regardless of our differences, Allen’s friends quickly absorbed Ruth and me into their conversations while we all stood around sipping various drinks. Several of the couples held hands or kept their arms around each other, without being intimidated by Ruth’s and my presence, too. I felt quite welcome.

Allen had been right about Bruce. He and I fell into an easy banter that did not stop. Ruth, a little quieter than most of my friends, did not talk much, but I watched her observing the men.

One man wore a tight shirt that accentuated his unusually pointy nipples. After a long silence, Ruth turned to Bruce and me and said, “I wish I had breasts that stood out as well as his do.”

Without hesitating, Bruce blurted, “Well, I’m sure Bobbie at least lets you feel her breasts all the time.”

Ruth pulled herself up to her full height and declared, “Wrong assumption!”

Several men turned toward her to see what was going on.

My face must have gone bright red for Ruth’s embarrassment, but soon I burst out laughing. Through my laughter I stammered, “I’m not—I mean we’re not a couple. We’re not gay.”

Everyone within earshot erupted in laughter, and it was Ruth’s turn to blush.

Under the circumstances, Bruce had made an automatic supposition.  Ruth got over the incident quickly. Bruce and I became close friends, and he continued to make me laugh until his sudden death about a dozen years later. Allen and I are still friends to this day.

Although I’ve lost both Ruth and Bruce to early deaths, I still giggle to myself whenever I think of the phrase “Wrong assumption.”

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