My blog hit 2000!!! Wahoo! I pushed Skinny Me out of the bed and into the shower, shouting at her through the bathroom door to dress to impress becuase we were celebrating.

“Celebrating what, Picante?” Scott asked from the hall, where he had been taking out the trash.

I back-peddled quickly, not wanting to blow my secret identity out of the water. I like my freedom to say what I want. “We’re celebrating [Skinny Me] being here and all of us being successful, healthy and thriving!” I smacked his butt. “Go get sexy, bub.”

He pulled me back, coming This close to dislocating my shoulder because I was a millisecond into a dash/skip/dance something. “I already am sexy, and I would rather stay home and prove it to you.”

Que jelly legs and some hallway making out and we were off to get dressed for the night life. It’s been so nice at night lately (after the apocalyptic rain stopped) that I decided to wear a pair of short black shorts (made of suit fabric), a very cute red satin blouse that looked something like this:

, and a pair of black pumps. I had straightened my hair and stuck the comb from Halley’s wedding into my hair.

Once out and about, I stuck to Scott’s side like a burr, giving off the distinct signal of “Back off Bitches! I bite!” like it was a neon side above my head. Scott seemed to be enjoying every minute of my non-verbal war with the single women of Atlanta as a whole. “This was a good idea,” He murmured in my ear, doing his own little non-verbal attack by whispering in my ear and making it look like something else entirely as a richly-dressed guy with graying hair and great smelling cologne was about to walk up.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to compete with these girls to get you to myself. It would not have been pretty in the end.” Skinny Me had disappeared by the bar, but I could tell by the laughing circle of young men that she was over there having a good time. “I guess [skinny me] gets over her depression pretty quickly.”

He shook his head, making his new idea -a sexy but scruffy goatee- brush against my neck. Good thing I was already leaning on him because my legs gave up on the pretense of being self-controlled. “It’s all an act so that she doesn’t ruin the night. She’s been on antidepressants since she was 17. Our parents kicked her out at 18 because she went off her meds and disappeared for a week, so I kind of became her only family.” He led me to a quiet-ish corner. “I went to her graduation, drove to Kentucky with her when she got into a college there, send her some money periodically, and help make a tuition payment every now and then when she gets bogged down. She works two regular jobs plus is a teacher’s aide/tutor when needed.” He looked into my eyes. “I’ve been keeping her balanced by flying her down here a couple of times a year. Plus, I know her psychologist very well by now.”

I stared over at the thinning circle, watching Skinny Me sip her Corona. I snuggled closer to Scott. “So, you must be the only normal one in your family, huh?”

He laughed. “Who says I’m normal? I’m a editor for a women’s magazine, living in 2 apartments at the same time, and am entirely addicted to sex.” I hit his arm. “Just kidding! Better worded, I’m crazy about you.”

We kissed and just stood there for a while, watching the hubbub around us.

“I think we’re a little to old- I mean mature- for these kind of clubs,” I said, laughing, a moment later. “Don’t you think we should be at one of those small, family-feeling pubs or privately-owned bars.”

“I agree, Picante. We are the old married couple sitting in the corner booth arguing over who will drive home and how crappy the Bulldogs are playing.” This earned him another hit on the arm.

We spent the rest of the evening dancing and making out in our little corner, only coming out for air and more drinks. To think I had one of the best nights of my life, and it didn’t involve utterly destroying my liver, talking to perfect strangers, or making a idiot of myself in the middle of the dancefloor. Maturity-ville, population: two… for now.