Parting Glances: Sister gets origamic at 39

"You gay kids are a lot of laughs. Thanks for the invite to celebrate our jointly shared June 19th birthday. I turn 39 this year," winks Sr. Serena Scatterpin, Renegade Sisters of Mary. "Born on the cusp."
"How old are you, Ron? You don't look a day over 40. And what better proof of that: you're blushing. Goes fashionably well with your designer paisley shirt, tactfully open to show a curlicue or two of chest hair," coos Sister, sipping her second Gin & Tonic, taste enhanced with a naughty slice of cucumber.
"Old fogies like Charles don't blush. Although God knows he needs to. For old time's sake. It's sad. Blushing these days is a lost art. Blame it on gay pride parades, the X-tube, Rush Limbaugh, Kwame Kilpatrick, Monica Conyers."
The blushee in question is Ron Miotke, a friend of 13 years I first met when he was a Triangle board member. (He's now MCC-D's treasurer). A left-brained, mathematical, digitally precise, high-I.Q. brain trust. And! born on the lisp.
(RM: You owe me big time for the BTL print plug. Oh, yes. Congrats on earning your recent Ham Radio top-status credentials. How about doing shortwave for me? Is the French Rivera feasible? Say, contact now for a chic December getaway?)
Ron's right-brain partner of ten years, artist Gordon Price, is a happy-go-lucky guy, who when dining out invariably folds bits of table paper into origami grasshoppers. "Have you ever thought of folding tigers?" asks sports-minded Sister. "I'm sure you'd find a ready market, especially if they're pink with rhinestone eyes."
We four are five-star dining at Atlas Bistro, across from the ACLU's new Motown digs. We're sitting at a window table so Sister can wave to any Recovering Catholic fan who passes by going to Comerica Park.
(RCs apparently have a real genuflection about baseball: tight, high numbered uniforms, fly balls, pitching and/or receiving, spontaneous chanting, home plate scoring, concession stand assignations, etc.)
"Sister!" beams Gordon, proudly folding something resembling a tiger – or possibly penguin? – "You and Ron have more in common than you'd think. Ron's a southpaw, like you. And, I assure you – spiritually speaking – adept at holding and blowing out his own lit birthday candle left handed."
"We're in good company," adds Sister, waving her cucumber slice, blessing a fan passing by. "Eight of our presidents – including Clinton and Obama – are lefties. Ford, Reagan, and Bush – Georges H and W – tho' left were really right. In a knee jerk kinda way."
"In my case," beams Ron, stroking Gordon's naked elbow (conveniently positioned at Ron's left), "on my mother's side of the family I have five cousins who are left-handed, and – are you ready, Sister? – all gay. Actually three are lesbian. It goes without saying: all RC and politically correct."
No sooner has Ron finished Guinness Book anecdoting than Atlas maitre d' Scott Masters stops by to ask Sister – politely – to remove her DKNY wash-and-wear wimple, "to keep gawkers from gathering." Adding timely, "It seems to me that there's a genetic basis for being gay or Recovering Catholic, possibly both. Another Bombay G & T, Sister?"
"Rather attractive young hunk," bubbles Sister, fondling her cuke – seductively but introspectively – awaiting numero three. As in trinity. "Actually, research shows gays and RCs are like round peas in an iPod. Especially defrocked priests and Dominican Order Mother Superiors. Index fingers are longer. Scalp hair grows counterclockwise. There are more older brothers. And, they all like Barbra Streisand singing 'Ave Maria'. Cheers!"
"Here's looking up your wimple," adds Gordon, handing her birthday grasshopper No. 39 (or, is it tiger No. 1? Penguin No. 2?)