Not only did he take me to that Patchouli Den, but he also hung out for 65 minutes while I schmoozed with Houston’s finest—the hard-charging hippy chicks of the 281.

Last night—bless his heart—Angelface accompanied me to a Burt’s Bees seminar held at a granola barn called Nature’s Solutions.

An introduction to the wonderful world of hippy dippy hand creams, lip balms, and complexion enhancers, the estrogenfest was a New Age Mama’s dream and a Manwich-Lovin’ Straight Dude’s nightmare.

We may never have children … I’m fairly certain Angel’s twig and berries withered a little, just walking into that place.

But anywayz …

Angel, who is Mr. Anti-Organic, must know that Santa Claus is coming to town and she’s making a list, checking it twice because the hubs was *entirely* too well behaved last night.

I mean, he only flinched a little each time the older woman seated in front of him—heady with the ecstasy of organic eye cream—groaned desirously. I will admit, around the 45th outburst, Angel’s small flinch looked more like a nervous tic.

And then, when we were discussing the burden of ovulation and the androgenic acne it produces, Angel belied no discernable reaction … well, except his complexion changed from rosy to rigor mortis.

And when the topic of night creams was broached and someone went into detail about how mature skin wrinkles and puckers, I think Angel could relate. Subsequent to hearing a TMI testimony about rose creams being good for women’s “feelings” and “hormones,” I’m fairly certain Angel puckered on part of his body.

And it wasn’t his mouth.

…

I thought it was the best dirty hippy date ever. Angel (and his asshole) would probably disagree.

Posted in Angelface