Careful, B'hoys!

I DON'T WANT HER

 

I've given this problem a lot of thought, can't figure out just how what happened, happened. There I was enjoying myself, chatting with my long time friend, Clinton, at a pleasantly quiet bar. We each had a Miller's and smiles on our faces. Clinton told me a really dirty joke and I burst out laughing. My laughter was so contagious that Clinton had to run to the men's room or pee in his pants. That added to my laughing tears. While I waited for him to come back, I ordered another round of beer. Clint saw the sweating bottle and got right to it.

 

A luscious looking lady (pardon me but I may have mis-used a word there) walks in alone. I poke Clint in his ribs and give a silent 'Wow!' We just look, wouldn't touch if she sent us an engraved invitation. However, we do keep our roving eyes right on her. If she notices, I'll be surprised.

 

An acquaintance of ours, Gabe, comes in the swinging door and sits down beside her. As she turns her head away, I catch Gabe drop something in her drink. Is it my business? Should I talk to Gabe, warn Miss America? My clever friend, Clint, tells me to keep out of it. Reluctantly I follow his advice and suggest we get the hell out of this place, grab the check and skedaddle.

 

Only one block down the street is Tondelayo's Bar and Eats. Clint and  I like it there. There's  karioke fun, a little dancing, just a friendly warm mixture of strangers. A few round tables are still empty. We take one that is two rows back from the small stage. One of the bar's most attractive waitresses feels at home in her Pago Pago hula skirt, bra and thongs on her flat feet and offers us a menu and drinks. Clinton and I feel comfortable, relaxed. The old nickelodeon plays non-stop.

 

Our Millers sweat and so do I and Clint when a good looking muscle man swishes over to our table and asks to join us. As one voice, Clint and I say, 'Sorry, were waiting for our girlfriends.' He gives us a tiny salute and sits elsewhere alone–at least for a while. That leaves me and my friend with time on our hands. We get too serious, start talking about the world coming to its end in just two years, storms, N. Korea, S. Korea. Both of us realize the air has changed, and drop the world's problems.  I go to the bar and change a dollar bill for quarters, feed them one at a time into the old Nick. It's my money so I get to pick the music I want to hear. Hell breaks loose when I let Como, Crosby, Frank breathe again. Couples stamp their feet, call nasty things to me. 'Where's your beard, Old Timer?' 'Stay where you are. The morgue car is on its way.' I turn away, sip my beer and talk only to Clinton.

 

A hip cutie steps on to the small stage, jumps for you and shouts, 'Everybody, It's Karioke time the titles are on the screen. Let's have fun!'  Clint and I get into it, applaud wildly. Pretzels and peanuts stay untouched. Too many unclean hands have wandered thru them. We order steamed clams and more beer. Our moods definitely improve as the squeaking, shrieking performers are poor examples of talent. Nobody minds the boos. It's part of the fun. I prod Clint but he has turned to stone. Won't budge.

 

Two girls who know how to shake their booties approach our table. Without asking, they pull up chairs. Their sugar coated fake Southern drawls bore us. Sally Mae announces she is doing very well in spite of having the first stage of Aids. 'I'm gonna beat this thing. There's lots of people livin' thru it these days.' She clams up. I don't know, don't want to know, if she's kidding or not. Darci Jean, leans across the table and almost lays her boobs in my hand. My stomach turns when a tattooed dragon and a swan almost bite me. She looks me in the eye and tells me she has a condom in her purse. It is my turn to fake it. 'Clint, How about this. You pay our check. I'll bring the car to the front entrance and the girls can meet us there? What do you say, Ladies?'
I manage to kick Clint under the table without touching any extra legs.
Clint tells them he'll make a pit stop first. They can do the same. I tell them specifically my car is a silver gray 2009  Camarro. We'll be waiting.

 

Oh, we are good, really good liars. As soon as we get in my car and are out of sight, I ask Clint if he'll be satisfied with Darci Jean and in a most serious tone says, 'No, I'd rather have Sallie Mae. But we are such good friends, I'll give you first choice.' Together we laugh and say in unison, 'I don't want her, you can have her. She's not the one for me.'

 

We sing it all the way home and don't go back to Tondelayo's for a long long time.