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Writing about the gargoyle turd reminded me of another encounter. Years ago an acquaintance named Scarlet phoned and said she and her boyfriend Dan were gonna go to a juke joint on Saturday night, and Dan had a pal who needed a date. Did I want to go?
I thought about it. I was a nurse working full time. I never went anywhere, and don't like juke joints. These places are small, dark smoky joints where the band plays ear splittingly loud renditions of country songs and rednecks boozed up on beer use dancing as an excuse to rub up against each other. But well, okay, I said I'd go to Scarlet's house and meet my proposed date.
When I got there, Scarlet and Dan were sitting at the kitchen bar having cocktails--their slurry greeting told me they were three sheets to the wind already. Then from the end of the bar I heard a boozy voice say "C'mere baby and sit on my lap!" Scarlet said "Sue meet Joe."Â Joe looked like a sewer rat. I said "Joe I'm not about to sit on your lap." Scarlet said "Oh come on Sue. He just got out of jail and needs a lady friend."
I left with my feathers ruffled, and never spoke to Scarlet again. That's the story of my life!     Susil
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like drunks, never have