No “Girly Show” for me last night.  I stayed at home.

Didn’t even go to dinner with my Paseo crew.  Actually, I was headed home about 5:30 p.m. and stumbled into an AA meeting.

I’ve been going to night-time AA “speaker” meetings lately to accommodate a new sponsee and I thought a regular meeting by myself would do me good.  It did.

Unbeknownst to me, this was the third Friday of the month and that’s when the Western Club has a pot luck dinner and social hour.  So, just by inertia, I ended up having dinner at the AA meeting.

It was very much like the Wednesday night Baptist church prayer meeting dinners I used to be dragged to by my sainted mother back when I was a kid.  Long tables, plain food, women bustling around getting everything just perfect and guys circling around trying to get a taste of this and a flirt with HER.

About 8 p.m., I came home to the cat.

My house can get very quiet when it’s just the cat and me.

Sinatra showed off, played, thundered up and down the hallway and climbed over all the couches and chairs.

However, eventually, he calmed down and climbed up in my lap for a thorough petting, nose to tail. 

A warm cat on your lap, purring loudly, is a soothing thing.

I tried watching some television, but I seem to have lost the knack of it.  It just didn’t engage my attention.

God forbid that I do any of the chores around the house that need attention: laundry, dishes, cleaning the toilets.  On Friday night?  Ugggghhhh!

I thought about getting up and putting on my boots and hitting GSpot about 10 p.m. to hear the band.

I fixed a cup of hot chocolate instead.

By the time I’d re-checked the political webpages and read some international news and sipped the cup of hot milk and chocolate down to the black dregs, it was definitely bedtime.

At home in bed before midnight on Friday night, accompanied only by a mongrel feline.

My dashing playboy bachelor image will just have to take the hit.