Phantom of the Halloween Party

Roberto put on his white mask and black cape and headed to WPLJ’s in Walnut Creek for his singles’ club annual Halloween party.  Available middle-aged women milled around the bar in their skimpy alter-ego outfits. There were:

Slutty witches

Slutty fairy tale characters

Slutty mermaids

Slutty nurses

and slutty vampires.

Oh, which one to dance with? There were so many choices.  Roberto was drawn to the woman dressed as a gypsy with her long shiny hair, her tattered layered skirts, her colorful belt, her sexy head wrap, and her bangles, necklaces, and hoop earrings.

Who was she? He’d never seen her before. Rumor had it that she was a friend of a friend of someone in the club.

Other guys were circling. Roberto had to make his move, fast. He asked her to dance, and kept asking and asking all night long.  When the party ended, she invited him to her place, in Berkeley.

Roberto followed his gypsy woman through the Caldecott Tunnel to her house, where she was the perfect hostess and where he spent the night.

The next morning, Roberto woke up and reached for his long-haired beauty. But the wig was on a chair, and he only saw short gray hair on the pillow next to him.

She turned over to say good morning, and Roberto gasped. It was his grandmother!

Not really, but the woman had aged twenty years from the night before. She was wrinkled and pale, unlike the gorgeous woman from the party. Roberto gathered his wits and invited her to breakfast.

Did he call her again? No, he wanted to date someone closer to his own age, and he was 68!

It just goes to show, what you see is not always what you get, especially on Halloween.

 

Couldda Wouldda Shouldda

If Roberto would’ve given Granny a second chance, he would’ve found out that she was a professor at UC Berkeley where she taught British literature to undergrads. He would learn that her extensive home library was full of rare first edition books and that she had bought her Craftsman style bungalow with the proceeds of one signed first edition copy of Mein Kampf by Adolph Hitler that she’d found in a thrift store for $3.00. Roberto would’ve asked her to dye her hair for him, and she would’ve kicked him to the curb, because, after all, she was from Berkeley.

 

 

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