Courtesy of The Impossible Cool, let’s end this week with a dose of Bad-Ass:
Whose biography, Baby, I Don’t Care, I just bought on my Kindle. And who would sneer at me and then kick my ass for having such a device.
Every man should have at least one Robert Mitchum moment in his life. Here’s mine.
I was at a New Year’s party in NYC in 2003, a few sheets to the wind, kindasorta getting over some heartbreak, when I bumped into a cute, tall, redhead who’d drunkenly flirted with me at a party a few weeks earlier. We resumed our flirtation and got to smooching a little. Then she looked up into my eyes and drunktiredhorny said, “Take me home.”
And I looked at her, smiled, and said, “Baby, I ain’t got a home.”*
That’s my Robert Mitchum moment. She reconnected with her friends, who led her outside a little later. Two days after, I met the woman I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with.
* As far as that night went, it was true. I wasn’t driving back to NJ in that condition, and wasn’t gonna bring her back to my friends’ sofa with me.