What Not to Say to Your Hot Cousins
Last time on Rugged Fox… On the cusp of turning thirty-eight, Rugged finds himself in the throes of an identity crisis, again. Consulting Chat GPT for advice, he quickly gives up on AI and falls back on his old pal rosé. Returning to the closet from whence he came, he looks to his clothing for guidance; but all he finds is drag. Fast-forward one sea bus ride, and the balding ginger meets his handsome, strapping cousins for dinner in North Vancouver.
“What are we thinking gents, start off with a pint and move on to something red?”
As it happened, the 3 of us lucked out and managed to snag a table at Nook. It was Friday night, and the restaurant was packed with no reservations. Serving up good times with pasta, beer, pizza, and wine, Nook is always a smart choice any day of the week.
“I was thinking we could start off with burrata and prosciutto,” I reached for the menu, “and then move on to a cacio e pepe or perhaps a boscaiola. How do you boys feel about olives?”
“We like it all cous,” said Drum. Sitting beside him, Heller nodded his head in agreement.
As the first round of drinks were served, we raised our glasses in a toast, and relaxed back into the first sip.
Following the last few years, I still feel a heightened sense of gratitude whenever I sit at a table with my family. There is something too, these days, about growing older. I can still picture the way my cousins looked in the early 90’s. Spending our summers together in Calgary, we were young kids with our faces painted at the Stampede. And now, here we are, almost all grown up.
Once the appetizers arrived, H reached for a slice of prosciutto and asked, “How the is the writing going Rugs?”
“It’s…” I bumbled.
“Yeah…” I fumbled.
“So, about that…” I stumbled.
Reaching for a sip of pale ale, I felt anxious when my eyes began to drift. You see, I didn’t know it before; but whenever my vision strays from a conversation, it means my brain is stuck loading. Like there is a process I cannot quite compute. As the hourglass keeps turning, I struggle to find ways to hit reset. It is strange because this is never a problem I had before.
“I had to say something, and I had to say it quick. Otherwise, I was sure the aunts and uncles would start talking. ”
“The writing is… going,” I said, managing to form a full sentence.
I must admit to you, after a decade living in Vancouver, I have lost complete interest in talking points. Years ago, if you asked me how my artistic career was faring, I would have automatically replied, “it is great!” Then I would have told you in detail about 3 scripts and one book I had to write. Now, I am sans mots, without words.
Suddenly the awkward silence I had created became loud and clear. I could hear the crunch as Drum bit into a piece of crostini. The scratch of the fork against the ceramic dish as H dolloped more cheese. Even though nothing was being said, I could make out the thought each brother was thinking, what happened to cousin Rugs? I had to say something, and I had to say it quick. Otherwise, I was sure the aunts and uncles would start talking.
“So, I went to a bathhouse for the first time,” I shattered the silence.
“Come again?” said Drum, pausing mid-chew.
“What is a bathhouse?” asked Heller, innocently intrigued.
“Gentlemen, I think it is time to order wine,” I grabbed the list and looked for the server.
Next on Rugged Fox… Sweet Meryl, let’s keep it Uncle Curt Friendly folks.
