…the booze is gone.
I went on an unexpected tear Wednesday with a buddy going through grrl trouble. As with all good drunks, I was able to pace myself until the last port of call: a bar and pool room called The Rack. You know what? Almost the entire staff of The Rack consisted of hansomely endowed women in inadequate clothing. Color me surprised!
The Gentle Reader is reminded that I don’t go out “clubbing.” I don’t “live for the weekend.” The kinds of bars I go to have adults in them who drink IPAs and Stouts. But, this adventure wasn’t about me. I ended up in a variety of places, buying drinks for strange women (at the behest of my lovelorn friend) and knocking down the canonical wedding cocktail: Dewers on the rocks. For some reason, none of the twenty-something “ladies” wanted to take home two blasted thirty-somethings. Was my comb-over showing? I had on my best thin leather tie. Am I missing something here?
Thursday was day of rest for me and my buddy, who consumed a heroic amount of gin and tonics. I managed not to be too fuzzy from alcohol, but from the lack of sleep. Despite recent scholarship, I bloody need 8 hours of sleep each night.