I looked at you with scorn and derision, even as I noticed your attractively shaggy haircut and clean, even teeth. I thought to myself, man, this guy is wasted. He can't even sit up straight on a barstool. What a dumbass. What a freaking loser.
It was 3:30 in the morning, and I was not feeling charitable.
I laughed at your friend when she demanded back her debit card, because she had been paying in cash. I gave her a Look when she told me I was wrong, and sniffed a bit when she pulled her card wonderingly out of her wallet. I walked over to Rigo, my bartendering companion, and said 'Man, there's an ad for giving up drinking if I've ever seen one. Don't drink, cuz you look like a stupid idiot. Like that guy.'
Then Saturday night rolled around.
On Saturday night I drank six glasses of wine before breaking one all over someone's shoes, waltzed clumsily and loudly, shared inappropriate secrets with people I barely knew, tried to flirt with three different guys at the same time, told someone I went to high school with but haven't seen in 5 years that I am hoping to meet a Sex God in the near future, asked him if he was a Sex God, and then fell over. Much of this was done in the exact spot where the dumbass drunk guy had been sitting.
I'm sorry, dumbass drunk guy. Clearly, it happens. In the future, when you are behaving like a freaking loser, I promise to be more charitable.
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2 comments:
I need to get that 'troppo vino' [sp] implant in you STAT.
That way, we'll know when to come film.
Oh, sweet girl. Love.
wait, when did you fall over?
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