Triumph
I like to party. When I am experiencing the high of the best social lubricant on the planet, and probably the universe, I am destined to have a good time. Alcohol in general is enjoyable, but beer is fuel when I am partying. One of my favorite ways to drink beers is right out of the pitcher. Call me tacky, but it's efficient and a great conversation starter. Besides, I think like a woman, why get a glass dirty? Some bartenders frown on this, but I have been able to do this multiple times at a bar I frequent that we will call "The Countess." I usually have to be feeling pretty gutsy to even ask, so I am usually a few drinks into the night (or day) when I get my pitcher. On a night when I order a pitcher and no glasses, it's going to be a good time.
There was some kind of game on the televisions in the bars on this specific night. I really couldn't have cared less about the game. I had already spotted the next man I was going to fall in love with. He stood around six feet tall, had brown hair with bright blue eyes, was skinnier than I usually like, but had these perfectly shaped, white, glowing teeth. I'm a sucker for a guy with a good orthodontist. I flash my own pearly whites and he knows that it's time to join my friends and I. I can't do anything but stair at his smile. Within seconds of him sitting down, I tell him that he has, "beautiful teeth." I then ask him how long he had braces and if he does anything to take special care of them. I was impressed by his lack of need to do anything to maintain their greatness. But more importantly turned on by the fact that he had also had enough to drink to not think this conversation was weirder than a Tuesday without tequila! I ask him to make out. And then we make out, a lot. Right there on the bench below one of the TV's with the most important ping pong game of all time playing. There is cheering going on around us. For the fact the he is grabbing my butt? For his beautiful teeth? Maybe the fact that we are really starting to go at it? My guess is anything but the ping pong game.
I need to take this guy home, ASAP. The bar is walking distance from my house, so we start the short trek. There is some intense chemistry; we stop and make out against fences, cars, and street lights. This is really getting good. He seems like he's packing more than a sweet grill.
We get to my house and immediately go to my room. That's when I see how shit faced this guy actually is. He can barely stand on his own two feet by the time we get to my house. There was no chance his soldier was going to stand up. I had to ask him to leave. I was irritated and very let down. He still had his boxers on, but needed to put his shorts back on. When he did so, millions of dollars in change fell on the floor. He must have been paying for all his drink in pennies and nickles. It's crashing and loud and now I really want him to go. This is just getting weird.
Although upset, I am able to fall asleep. I have to get up to work early in the morning anyway. I wake up the next morning and think about how sad it was that grill-boy got away so easily. I walk to the end of the bed and see all the coins on the floor. Obama is the only one I can imagine being satisfied with this amount of change.
I hardly ever make my bed, but because the rest of my room happened to be clean, I thought it would be nice to come home to a made bed that night. I roll back the comforter and what is hiding in my bed? A miniature rubber chicken. It looks like your typical rubber chicken, it just to be the mini-me of a regular rubber chicken. I realize that grill-boy has left this behind. It must have been something he was collecting in his cargo shorts.
I still keep that little rubber chicken. I look at it, smile, and examine my own pearly whites.
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