A Night At The Museum

Swim.

“I find this underwhelming.”

My roommate regards the exhibits with critical attention as he sips his whiskey. We’re at the Academy of Sciences tonight in celebration of his sister’s 30th birthday and, with a few champagnes tucked under her belt, she looks like she’s having a good time.

I, on the other hand, am on my first drink and hesitant to continue because the bar is cash only and I’ve other plans for the paper gentlemen in my wallet. But even under the stark lucidity of sobriety, I find tonight very-much-whelming.

I mean, it’s a museum with alcohol and I love both those things.

Our drinks are done in a flash and we find ourselves wandering the exhibits alone, intermittently meeting up with the birthday girl and her friends.

I admire the pretty jellyfish as roommate plays with the hand dryer next to the water tanks. I point out colorful sea creatures as roommate makes inappropriate jokes. I gape at the albino alligator as roommate checks his phone.

Lie.

Arguably, we should have gotten ourselves slightly tipsy before coming in, but watching fluorescent jellyfish sashay around a tank is pretty damn cool regardless, I think.

After a few hours, the birthday girl and her friends are ready to go home. We hug and say our goodbyes and all head to our separate cars.

“I don’t know if I’d go to this again,” roommate says.

“It’s one of those things worth seeing once,” I agree.

Though, secretly, I think about how this would make a great date night. I imagine walking hand-in-hand throughout the museum halls, pointing at things behind the glass, mutually marvelling at the strange and unfamiliar.

Did you see this one? I’d ask, tapping my fingertip against the glass and looking up at you expectantly. You’d peer at the object of my indication and make some joke that was more silly than clever and I’d laugh as you’d smile, our eyes meeting as our fingers touched.

I’ll probably come back again.

Float.