He is young, and he is lovely.

If feeling charitable, one might say I have a deep and resonant voice.

If feeling less so, one might say I am loud and obnoxious.

I suppose the truth, as in most things, lies somewhere in the middle... Though this weekend, I’d say I veered much closer to the latter than to the former.

I was in a nice little Mexican joint with three female friends and colleagues, all of whom are a bit older than me, and all of whom were enjoying the free-flowing margaritas. As was I. Two of said women have children and husbands, and are (understandably) quite wrapped up in that aspect of their lives.

So while they tell tales of marital strife and child-rearing, I and the single woman at the table tell sordid tales of various hookups and sexual conquests/humiliations. It’s a nice little give and take.

At one point, wife-and-mother-number-one decides to tell a story about her ten-year-old daughter, and how she stumbled upon two insects (I forget which kind, exactly) mating out in their backyard, and began announcing that they were, “doing it.” Her mother, however, quickly reminded her that they don’t refer to “it” in “that way.”

And so I was like, “What, how do you refer to it? Fucking?”

Well, it was one of those moments where, of course, the entire restaurant silences itself just in time for my outburst to ricochet off the walls and reverberate through the room, causing the table of four senior citizens next to us to stare over at us in horror while my female companions burst into laughter. Oops.

But it didn’t end there. Oh no. I was off and running.

“Now honey, you know better than that. It’s fucking. FUCKING. Say it with me. FUCK-ING. F-U-C-K-I-N-G. That’s right. And don’t you forget it. Fucking. I don’t ever want to hear you using lesser words again..."

And so on, until the women I was with were short of breath and hiding their faces in their hands, and the poor people at the table next to us were grabbing for their check and hurriedly putting on their coats...