was my partner. He called it and we took all five tricks—two points. That was to give me a false sense of security. First switch—Mitch was my partner. He called it—we were euchred and both had to drink a shot of tequila. Oops, he said with a wink as he stood up to move to the next seat. Second switch—Chase was my partner. Again we were euchred; again I had a shot to drink. If I waved the white flag, Mitch would forever call me Nancy. If I kept playing, the next day could be painful. Peer pressure at forty-two didn’t feel any different than at twenty-two. I was in for one more shot, but then I was gone.
Fourth hand (third switch) Emmet was my partner again. I was hopeful he wouldn’t get us euchred. He was the only one with a vested interest in my not vomiting all over his house. He could tell the two shots so quickly in my 110-pound body were starting to take effect. We made it through round four without drinking/being euchred. Mitch stood up to change partners but Emmet claimed me as his partner for the rest of the game.
Before long Chase, the cherub, started asking questions again; now that I was loosened up with tequila he likely figured I’d answer him. The one came first. Where did you grow up? This was an easy one, because in truth I had lived all over. No need to claim real roots anywhere. He moved on to what my father did for a living. We all talked about our fathers for a while. It was easy and comfortable. There were a few more euchres and Emmet and I had one shot to drink. Wow, I was definitely at my limit, maybe a bit past it. Three shots of tequila in thirty minutes.
Looking at his cards Chase smoothly asked, “Ever been married?”
“Still am…technically,” I blurted out before I could stop the words from escaping. Damn that tequila!
“Is that who you’re hiding from?” Chase realized I wasn’t going to answer his question. I realized there was no way to recover gracefully from this so I was going for the abrupt exit.
“Ahh…you know it is getting late and I really need to get to bed.” I stood up quickly…in fact, too quickly as the room started to spin and I began to lose my balance. Mitch jumped up and physically swept me off my feet. The room was still swaying and I was being cradled like a baby by the caveman…just a small shot to my dignity. “It’s okay, I can walk.” But he started toward the stairs mumbling he could use the exercise. Did he realize he would have to carry me up two flights of stairs?
“I can take her,” Emmet said to Mitch, but Mitch just tightened his grip and kept walking. Finally he laid me down in my bed, kissed my head as if I was a child, and started to take my shoes off.
“I’ve got it from here,” Emmet said, shooing the other two out of my room. The room stopped spinning and I watched him. He closed my shade, brought me a glass of water, a bucket, and a towel, and then gently took off my shoes. “Sleep in tomorrow if you want to,” he said, “I’ll get breakfast for the boys and me.”
I whispered quietly so he would lean in close. I whispered once again and he leaned closer. As soon as he was in striking distance, I grabbed his shirt with both hands and said, “I will get you back for this. I know where you sleep and I know what you eat…expect oatmeal.”
Emmet grinned, kissed my head, and I let go.
19
What a horrible night’s sleep. My dreams alternated between being incredibly thirsty but couldn’t get enough water, to the one where
I was in pain I had to pee so badly, but couldn’t find a bathroom. As I lay in bed with my eyes closed realizing I was dehydrated and had a bursting full bladder, the aroma of coffee caught my attention.
I opened my eyes to find Mitch, the caveman, standing in my room holding two steaming cups of coffee wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and a smile. Not boxer shorts, mind you, that leave much to the imagination, but his big hairy body in a pair of tighty-whities that looked like they had been washed a few hundred times. As much as I tried to focus on his smile or the coffee or even my aching bladder, his ample manhood was just about at eye level and it left me momentarily at a loss for words.
“Good morning beautiful,” he said and bent his furry body over me and kissed my forehead. “Scoot over and tell me how you slept.”
I was hesitant to respond, afraid a noticeable green toxic vapor of my morning breath would escape and melt the side of his face; nothing a quick trip to the bathroom couldn’t fix. I scooted out the other side of the bed to hit the bathroom.
“Be right back,” I said with my head carefully turned away from him. As soon as I was out of bed I realized how few clothes I had on—just a bra, tank top, and thong underwear. I spun around quickly backing into the bathroom. Mitch just laughed.
I made it to the bathroom without wetting my pants…who was I kidding…what pants? I needed some pants. I cleaned up my face from the remnants of last night’s make-up. It was more an act of triage than a morning routine. I ripped a brush through my hair, brushed my teeth, tongue, and part of my throat all the time wondering…who undressed me last night? I went to bed fully clothed and now I was clearly—not. I wrapped a towel around my waist and climbed back into bed, grateful that the bathroom was in my room. My clothes from last night were crumpled on the floor, meaning I undressed myself, I thought with a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, I’d have to climb over Mitch to get to them.
“Really, beautiful, how did you sleep last night?” Mitch asked. I leaned my head on his hairy shoulder and shared my dream sequence confessing I wasn’t well rested. However, I was thankful that I felt well—no headache even though I had three shots of tequila. What was I trying to prove?
“We were just having a little fun,” he laughed. “You’re not mad at us are you?”
“Yeah, you’re not mad at us?” Chase said as he strolled in holding a pot of coffee—another one who didn’t know how to knock, I thought. Thankfully he was wearing more clothing than Mitch. He looked even more like a cherub than last night, standing there bare-chested with his messy blonde curls and plaid pajama bottoms.
“Refills anyone?” He asked rhetorically, filling Mitch’s cup.
“My turn,” I said. Chase came over, kissed me on the head, and refilled my cup too. What was with the kissing me on the head? Not that I minded, it was actually very endearing. It was just a bit…different, I guess.
“So, did you guys have some sort of Boy Scout sleep over last night?” I asked.
“No, we had a bet on whether you would keep the tequila down and didn’t trust Emmet to be honest.” Mitch said. “Sorry beautiful—I bet you would lose it last night before midnight.”
“And I thought you would be praying to the porcelain god all morning…but I didn’t bet this time.” Chase added.
“Emmet bet you would be fine, but we figured he would lie to protect your self-respect and his bet. So I guess Emmet won the first round.” Mitch said, then looked at Chase like the cat that ate the canary.
Just then there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I yelled, as if another guest had arrived at the slumber party. Emmet opened the door and stood stoically, fully clothed looking at us. He took a few steps into the room. Reality struck…there Mitch and I were tucked under the covers while Chase lounged across the bottom of the bed with no shirt as if we were having a pajama party—none of us really wearing much in the pajama category!
I jumped out of bed like a soldier standing at attention...completely forgetting I was clad in my barely-there
