The Morning After

No, I didn't melt. My liver is also doing OK, thankyouverymuch. Not great, mind, but definitely OK. I wish I could say the same for TFBIM who is still in bed and making the most disheartening sounds, and calling for a heating pad and ibuprofen. (Uh-oh...I fear her current lack of wellness has reached its nadir.)

Me? I just have that weird, icky taste in my mouth, but no more than that. But I see I'm getting ahead of myself.

The thing last night was fine. The linen* held up just great and I looked terrific. However, when we arrived there, it was raining buckets. The wizards behind it all had never planned for the contingency that, during the rainy season, in a place where rain tends to be heavy and protracted, it could actually rain like a muhfuh. Which, I hasten to repeat, it did.

Anyway, when we arrived, the staff were rolling in the tables and chairs and struggling with two "E-Z Up" 10'x10' (3m x 3m) tents. Besides the concrete gazeboid sort of structure where the bar was--and where I stationed myself--the two mini tents were all the shelter available for the hordes of people who arrived. And the tents were mighty wobbly, to say nothing of the fact they were taking on water and beginning to sag under the weight of same...not a good thing when they seem very rickety for starters.

Then the power went. Slowly, by section, light left us. The event was dying. Right there in front of my eyes, this shindig was about to join the choirs of angels and saint. I saw a Chairperson of the Board-type walking around with a disheartened, frustrated look and a large flashlight.
While TFBIM went to mingle and look for people to greet, I surveyed the scene from my strategically desirable spot at the bar. At this point, appetizers** began to wind their way through the crowd. My position at the bar allowed me the luxury of intercepting the tray bearers as they carried out their assigned duties. I even managed to score a very nice cigar***, which I lit reverently.

Much to my surprise, a woman in a red sequined top struck up conversation with me at the bar. As a very happily married man, this is something which hasn't happened to me in some years. She looked at my dinner jacket and said something to the effect "It's good to see a man who really knows how to go to these events" as she stubbed out her cig. "Well, I try." I said with a benevolent smile. She then began to tell me her biography, starting at DNA and winding up at Thursday. She asked what I did for a living and I told her, and she asked how I started down this path and I told her that also, and she asked me if I was one of those Straight-A sort of student. I told her the truth: I was always one of those students who could get away with minimal work and wind up with good, but hardly spectacular, score. Between that and my ability to stay up 48 hours straight during final exams, I did OK.

Oy.

This led to her telling me the following facts about herself:

1- She used all manner of illegal stimulants when she was studying. She catalogued them for me.
2- Her husband and her had a long-distance engagement while he was getting his Master's and they had agreed to have an "open engagement."
3- Her oldest son is a stoner. "I'm hoping this won't affect his grades."
4- Her youngest son only talks about "getting laid."
5- Where she lost her virginity. "Well, I THINK it was with..."
6- Her hopes her husband wouldn't have too much to drink, lest he become "useless tonight."

Pretty frank discussion from someone I had only met two appetizers and an a cigar ago. I felt like interrupting her and saying "Oh, how rude of me. My name is Joke." But I didn't and, fortunately one of TFBIM's pals (one of the few good ones) and her sister (local TV anchorperson, obligatory at these sorts of things) rescued me from this conversational purgatory I was enduring.

All of a sudden, the rain let up and tables began to be set up. TFBIM had been helping herself rather handsomely to Cape Codders and was in a benevolent mood. We sat with her pal and her anchorsister and respective husbands, where the women all commented sagely on who had hair plugs, lifts, tucks, enhancements. And boy, did this thing seem like a showcase for elective cosmetic surgery. There was one lady who, I am certain cannot simultaneously sit and close her mouth.

Things wound up quietly at around 1ish, with several people going to after-parties and us heading home, TFBIM feeling no pain.

That is, of course, until about an hour ago.

-J.

* There's a label on the inside that reads "Guaranteed to wrinkle."
** It is an article of faith with me that appetizers are the most delicious food at these things.
*** I have less than one a month, so shush.

Comments

Badger said…
Okay, I'm trying to imagine an event to which you would wear a linen dinner jacket and ANYONE ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET would wear a red sequined top.

In fact, I'm trying to imagine an event to which anyone would wear a red sequined top, period. I'm thinking ... baton-twirler convention? Dolly Parton concert? Pole Dancers Anonymous? Truly, I'm at a loss.

(And the punchline to the whole thing is not the vast quantities of TMI that spewed forth, but the fact that she recognized your ability to dress yourself while being unable to manage same.)

TFBYM needs a coke and some greasy french fries, stat. That always works. AMHIK.
Caro said…
Okay, I get it. It didn't wrinkle! LOL

I very much enjoyed the "couldn't sit down and shut mouth at the same time" comment.
Poppy Buxom said…
See, that's what you get for fussing so much about your clothes. All that time and attention to your black linen this and your white linen that, and the first woman you meet mistakes you for a priest, and makes her confession.

How many Hail Marys did you give her? Or should I say Bloody Marys?
Joke said…
Badge,

The Lady In Red's look was one that screamed "freshly divorced and on the prowl." She seemed as though she thought she looked hot. (Um, think again.)

P.,

It was a dinner jacket, not a chasuble. But, you may have a point. I should have told her to go to Hell.

BTW, TFBIM is still feeling like Hell. Hangover + Day 4 is a rough thing. I think if I were suggest fries and a Coke I'd wind up mopping the ceiling and 3 of 4 walls.

-J.
Badger said…
Well, she should just stop resisting my pheremones and be assimilated already. Then she'd be on day 7 and thus completely in the clear.

Er, no pun, etc.
Joke said…
Remember we're on Eastern Time.

-J.
MsCellania said…
I never thought about it; but trolling at benefits is not a bad idea. If one were the trolling sort. You must've been too tuckered out from your luncheon of libations to scoot away; I'm seldom so kind to dull drunkards.

How's the planning going for the Event at the end of year?
Joke said…
Well, I was immobile because my chosen spot was one which sheltered me from the rain, had me within reach of passing appetizers and conveniently close to the bartender.

I'm very territorial.

-J.

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