25 July 2010

Send A Gift


The Hammer woke me not long after dawn. Lick, lick, lick. I felt pretty good. The previous night and day ought to have put me in the hospital. It had ended with tumblers of Danish vodka and orange juice. Night of the Skrewdrivers.

I put the dog outside to listen to the birds' bullshit. There was somebody asleep under the big tree. He was breathing. The Hammer walked up to him and began licking his face. Not yet awake, the man mumbled, "You're the best baby," before my affectionate dog slid her tongue down his throat in search of the curdled contents of his stomach. Out they came.

Then I opened the freezer to see how much vodka was left. A swish in the bottom of the opaque bottle was it. Someone was going to drink that vodka this morning, I thought, might as well be me.

There had been a wedding last night. The preacher talked his crap, there was a kiss and applause, the bride looked good considering how far she was along, the hall was hot, we drank a lot, more booze had to be brought in when the night was still young.

Once bride and groom said their good-byes the party began to falter. A few people came back to our place. We listened to records as our intelligence was smattered by tumblers of what kills you, hard stuff, not beer.

The smart thing to do when you are invited to a wedding is to send a good gift with a note explaining you are out of the country on the big day.

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