Pins.

Last night I went to Krysztof Nemeth's art opening at Derby Salon. I don't mind saying that I have a minor (okay, pretty major) crush on him, because he's a gigantic sweetheart and a fantastic artist, and I enjoy his company though I don't know him very well. The show was fun, mellow, with lots of free wine, which is too bad since I've been mostly dry (barely even damp!) for the last few months. When I walked up I heard a scooter fire up and pull away. I went in Krysztof gave me a big hug and said, "Wait, [Mr. VNRS's name redacted] just left! Literally, just now." Oh, well. So I spent some time with the man of the hour and his art, and Ava showed up with her friend Angel, a sultry, voluptuous burlesque girl.

People kept bringing their kids in, and Krysztof and I chatted about children together and with a few other people. Most of the little ones were around the same age, between a year and two years, running around or reaching up to the Halloween lights strung about the salon.

"You okay?"

I had been zoning out on a gorgeous tow-headed 16-month-old boy wearing a shirt with George W. Bush's picture and a caption that said President Poopy.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Fine."

Krysztof asks me if I like kids. I tell him, honestly, that I love them, and that I'm a proud auntie. He tells me a little about his two, but there's a distance in his obvious joy.

"Do they live with you?" I ask, a little cautiously.

He smiles sadly, and tells me they don't. "I don't really want to go into it, I'm tired of talking about it, but you can ask Ava. I don't mind you knowing...just tell her that Krysztof said it was okay."

I smile and thank him, and think about telling him about my miscarriage. I wonder if he read it on me earlier, but decide that it was unlikely. It's just that it's not the first time this week that someone has asked me if I was all right when I was staring at a baby. I hope I'm not too obvious.

Later, I chatted with a sweet guy named Johann (the other mostly sober person) until Ava, Angel, and I booked it out to the Comet to see Devon's band, Junk Mail. Mr. VNRS showed up to that, so I guess I didn't miss him after all.