So there we were. Three gay men in our forties, having a nice sedate dinner party. Lasagna. Real good wine. Talk about "kids today," the election, real estate. Blah blah blah. In the course of the evening, we started talking about our younger, wilder days. All yesterday's parties. All those drugs we did. How disappointing cocaine was in retrospect. What was the big deal there? We shook our heads with disdain. Wasn't pot awful? Omigod yes. We agreed that one of the best things about getting older is that we'll never have to smoke pot again. Or any other pharmaceutical.
Oh, one of us said, except X.
Three heads looked up, Three pairs of eyes looked left, then right, checking each other out.
Love Ecstasy. What a great drug.
It shouldn't be illegal. It's not fair that it's illegal.
The whole problem was letting kids get a hold of it. Those damn kids just went way overboard. Them and their raves. Damn kids.
Two of us didn't do Ecstasy until we were this side of forty, coming to it late in life.
"If only I could find a good Ecstasy connection," I said, "That would be so cool." I paused. "But on the other hand, it's a good thing that I can't find a good Ecstasy connection."
Agreement all around.
So there you have it! What special little gift do you get for a 40-something year old gay man for his birthday? No, he doesn't need that. He's got one already. But a little jewel case such as a signet ring might come in holding a Sweet-Tart with a smiley face on it? He'll really like that.
Where to shop for something like that?
Oh damned if I know. Go ask some twenty-two year old.