Shooting Hoops

Well, it's official. The Caterpillar has left me.

She's off to take the world by storm, as if she hasn't already. First stop: home to beautiful southern California for some R&R (sigh... how I adore Los Angeles). Next up: Scotland, to wink her way into free pints and otherwise charm the pants off cute Scottish boys with thick accents. Lastly, for the fall/winter: El Salvador and other Central and South America miscellanea, where she already has people she knows and places to stay (for $100 a month, no less... not that I'm bitter).

And I'm happy for her. Really, I am. But I would be lying my ass off if I said I wasn't truly heartbroken to see her go.

I roused myself from a restless nap late on Monday afternoon to make my way to the Caterpillar's surprise goodbye dinner at Jaleo. I left my new apartment and, as usual, passed the convent on the corner. Have I mentioned? I live next to a convent. The real Girls Next Door. You know, "Bleeding Heart Sisters of Eternal Misery, " or "Our Ladies of the Virgin of Perpetual What-Have-You..." Okay, so clearly I'm not the foremost authority on this particular Catholic facility.

I've seen the nuns before... and by that I mean I've seen a single nun out in the backyard, head down, somberly tending to a plant, wearing a light- and royal-blue habit. But Monday night was different. I breezed out of my apartment and strode toward the corner, instinctively glancing over my right shoulder when I passed the convent.

The nuns were playing basketball.

I stopped dead in my tracks. They were out in the yard, scrimmaging on the courts outside of the adjoining Catholic school. Laughing, shouting, shooting hoops. In full habits; enter inappropriate "Shirts or Skins" joke [here]. I grinned, collected myself, and continued my quick pace towards the Potomac Ave station.

This made me surprisingly cheerful, considering I was on my way to say goodbye to my darling Caterpillar. But it makes sense, I guess. Women with strong principles doing something unexpectedly brazen should remind me of the Caterpillar, seeing as how she sings in her church band but doesn't hesitate to initiate candid dinner-table discussions on the subject of dry-humping.

Goddammit, I'll miss that girl.