I don’t mind playing DD occasionally. It sure would be nice to be taxied around more than once a year (on my birthday). Still, I enjoy being the responsible party—the one who’s in control. Isn’t it fun to say, “Go ahead, copper, I dare you” instead of frantically digging for the breath mints as your heart races when you spot that B&W in your rear-view mirror? Naturally, I’m rarely pulled over when sober.
As I chauffeured ole 86-proof-blood around last night, the inevitable happened: We ran into the female version of the two of us. I was paired up with stagger-lee’s driver and the fun bagan. We sipped our club-and-limes and watched like toddler parents at a ball pit.
There are interesting distinctions to be made between inebriated men and women:
· Drunken men get gravy-leg. You must have witnessed this at an Irish pub more than once. It goes like this: Take a normal walking step with left leg; drag toes of right leg then lift it slightly higher without bending the knee sufficiently; shake right foot; and finally, flop right leg down flat-footed.
· Drunken women drop stuff. How many times have I assisted in retrieving the contents of a purse dump from under a bar stool? Too numerous to count. Lip-gloss, folded ones, quarters, hair pulls, loose credit cards, sticky notes, and hand lotion scatter around the gross things I’d rather not be touching (lime wedges, toothpicks, and fuzz). Occasionally, this is accompanied by the dumper trying to assist the retrieval, causing her to land on her dumper. Priceless.
· Drunken men can think of nothing other than pussy. OK, sober men too—we’re just slightly more subtle about it.
· Drunken women become touchy-feely, especially with other women. This makes me tingly in the boxers.
· Drunken men ask questions, forget the answers, and re-ask the same question much to the annoyance of all in attendance.
· Drunken women giggle at random things and either forget why they giggled or have difficulty explaining why it was funny. “That baseball man totally almost got hit in the ding dong. Ah, ha, ha, ha!”
· Drunken men annoy bartenders, get very light pours, and constantly have their tabs inched closer to them.
· Drunken women are embraced and encouraged by bartenders who enable the disaster by suggesting such horrible shots as Fernet Branca. (Ladies, do not EVER drink this syrupy bile or you will be sorry.)
· At the end of the night, drunken men crave cheap, greasy Mexican food, which they inhale while exhaling embittered babble about women in general. They often use vulgar words (I can’t repeat them here. They’re too nasty. Oh, all right. Let’s just say that the words rhyme with “bitch,” “whore,” and “cunt”). There’s usually some redeeming quality sprinkled within the babble, such as “… but she had a marvelous ass, didn’t she?”
· At the end of the night, drunken women want to eat ice cream and cuddle. Aw.
I should charge for my services. My Jeep smells not of curry, my music selection is varied and tasteful, and I speak the language (drunk-ass).