Dear Drunken Idiot Stumbling Around After Last Call,
It's 2 AM. You're drunk. You've been escorted out of the bar. I know you're probably in a sad, lonely state at this point and time seeing as how Jack and Jim were your only companions for the evening. Perhaps Jose joined the party at some point, as well.
My heart goes out. Really, it does. As I, myself, am wandering around trying to find my car, I know what it's like to be confused in the haze of the Gaslamp district after hours. Amidst the hundreds of others wandering around like intoxicated zombies, you manage to make yourself noticeable in the crowd. It was pretty hard to miss your attempt to stand in what I'm guessing was an invisible wind tunnel. My friend and I make an abrupt, seemingly coy plan to shift our stroll into the street and avoid any impending "situation". At this point, I'd rather battle bike cabs and oncoming traffic than hear any attempts at verbal communication that may spew from your mouth.
Alas, our plan was foiled when you spotted us. I will admit that my one mistake was carrying an over sized purse with me for a night out. But, to my defense we were at a dive bar and the only dancing I had planned on was the tap dancing Casey was supposed to perform upon her final drink.
With your friends Jack, Jim and Jose rejoining your party and your breath, you decide you'd like to talk to me. Fair enough. This is no way gives you the right to latch onto my purse strap and proceed to pull me from the street, only to follow this oh so debonair move with a slurred "yersacomangwizmesh". (Translation?: You're coming with me.) No, sir, I am NOT going anywhere with you. Had security not seen your suave final attempt at gaining a number you probably would have lost the ability to have children via my 5 inch stiletto heel. Luckily, the only thing you lost that night was your dignity. I genuinely hope you find it on the corner of Market and 6th sometime in the near future.
Sincerely,
The Girl Who Almost Killed Your Future Children.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Just remember, those 3 J's you named make up the new favorite: "the three wiseman". Such a misleading name for a drink. To him, that is what he was at that point. He had you figured out and knew how to bypass the hullabaloo of a phone number and dates. Your letter presents beautiful allusion with exquisite detail of this disgracing situation for, yet again, another sad gentleman caller who crosses your path. This time via sidewalk vs. cybertalk. I am also quite sure that you could come up with an even more creative Mark Twain-esque storyline for a gentleman of the past, I beseech you; refrain. He's merely in appreciation of great story telling and bombay sapphire and pomegranate juice. POM to the layperson. Big gulps huh??? Well, see ya later
Post a Comment