Yesterday, I arrived at Café Saint-Ex, a self-described “charming restaurant and lounge.” After waiting at the bar with my male companion, the host seated us and informed us that our waiter would be by shortly. The waiter approached from behind. “Hey guys,” he said, wheeling around to face us. “Oh, God, uhh, wrong choice of words,” the waiter said, nervously darting his eyes at my face. “I saw the short hair and—I just assumed,” he continued. He apologized, asked for our drink order, and took leave of us.

Read More “Note to Saint-Ex: “You Guys” Is Gender-Neutral” »

On the U Street Listserv this morning, Washington Post Staff Writer Theola Labbé-DeBose solicits “ex wives and new wives who get along”:

Hi, for a potential Mother’s Day feature I’m looking for local Ex-wives and New wives who get along! The women should be able to talk freely about what it took to get their relationship on a positive note. If you or someone you know fits this bill, and they live in DC-MD-VA please reply to me at labbet@washpost.com.

Thanks,
Theola

Since the situation warrants an exclamation point, I’m betting this holiday-themed piece will have a good layer of bitchy female rivalry beneath its grinning facade. But wouldn’t a real Mother’s Day present from WaPo be a piece on chummy ex- and new husbands? Certainly there are just as many men in this situation as there are women. My suspicion is that WaPo wouldn’t find the stories of male rivalry sufficiently catty to warrant a piece. Or maybe WaPo’s just waiting until next month to roll that story out for Father’s Day?

Photo by Cosmic Kitty

Last night, a man boarded a 90 bus headed up U Street in the midst of an historic weekend for the city of Washington, D.C. “Wow, U Street’s changed,” the man remarked. “I haven’t been on a bus in years. It’s a beautiful thing, though. What do they call it? Gentrification or some shit?”

—

“Hey, baby girl,” he remarked to the woman sitting across from him.

—

“I’m half-Cuban, half-Cherokee, half-brother,” he informed her.

“Wow, three halves,” she replied. The half-Cuban, half-Cherokee, half-brother inquired as to whether she would like to party with him that evening. The Baby Girl declined. She and her male companion disembarked at the next stop.

—

“Everyone on this bus,” he announced. “I apologize for my inflammatory statements and for the tone of my voice. I am sorry. I am. It was bad. It was not right.”

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“I apologized,” he continued, speaking now only to himself. “I made a public speech. I said I was sorry.”

Riding through the rain. Scouting barber shops. Hugging strangers. Beating drums. Watching revelers climb to the highest elevation in sight—bus stops, stop lights, trees. Yelling back at honking cars. Chanting “U.S.A.” for the first time (unironically). Storming Marvin when Barack came on the big screen. Cheering for our next first lady—and, inexplicably, even louder for our next first puppy. Cheering for the District of Columbia. Putting down my notepad. Watching history. It was a wonderful night.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery