White girls they’re pretty funny
Sometimes they drive me mad
Black girls just wanna get fucked all night
I just don’t have that much jam
Once a year, it’s time for a friend to salute her lost father with a whiskey (because full on Mahattans are too nasty). Join in from a couple thousand miles away, because why not? What could possibly go wrong?
Later…You’re on the train surrounded by cops. Maybe they’re SWAT. Maybe they’re ninjas. You’re not arrested so just shut up and exit discreetly.
Go to Paul and Mary’s. Mary is unamused by your made up on the fly card game. And your bad manners. And tracking powdered sugar all over her floor. You’re both relieved when she leaves, because WTF was THAT all about?
Sit down in the big comfy chair, now that you won’t get yelled at. A girl wants to sit in your lap. She is uncontrollably attracted to you. And also hot. Playing against type, let her sit down. See, isn’t that nice? She’s wearing a barely-there top made out of tiny beads, like you would find on a cheap necklace.
Inner monologue: Your beads are a choking hazard. I’ve got something better you can choke on, baby.
Girl’s outer monologue: Yes please.
You don’t need your spidey sense to know there’s no bra to be dealt with – you have visual confirmation.
The girl switches it to high gear – she really wants the D. It in no way seems incongruous that she is Rihanna does it, Mr. music snob? The only confusion comes from you being clumsy -not from nerves (surprisingly), but from geometry – and this not being a hindrance. Your wandering hands perceive familiar places, like she studied your various exes’ biology. That only means you need a little more warm up. There’s plenty of time…
The dogs are still quiet, although the sun is up. Fuck, it’s 7:05. Why are the pillows all over the floor. Why am I sideways with no blanket?
WHERE IS THE GIRL?
Oh, right. “Whiskey”
Salute not forget
There were just as many whiskeys and beers as that time at the Irish bar in Vegas. The difference this time and maybe an answer to an implicit question, is:
- no warm ups with dinner
- the beers were regular, not pints
- the whiskey was 1/3x, not unordered 2x or 3x.
- mix it with ginger ale, not English ale
So today is a mixed result. Mary’s not mad. There’s no famous-y singer pelt to hang in my trophy case, but also no bad naked, no “did we or didn’t we IRL?” to answer, no missing fixtures, no desperate need for a chili dog and 4 Red Bulls and a gallon of Gatorade.