One night, while we “rocked the Ripple” (what my generation called barhopping in Broad Ripple) we went into one of our favorite places, and I headed up to the bar to fetch our drinks.
I was standing there, waiting for the bartender, when I felt this immense pressure coming from behind me. People so pushy! I had had enough of the pushing, so I pushed back. If you’re not a woman, you have no idea how brave it is to “throw your ass into it” while you’re at a bar, but lemme tell you, I was seriously irritated.
My pushing was met with MORE PUSHING.
I turned around to see what it was, and there were about fifty men behind me. They were all staring at a point above my head, pushing toward me, ever so eagerly.
Oh, lucky me, I had front row seats to the show. And the girl right over my head, some Amazonian brunette, well, she must have peed through her panties that night, because she sure wasn’t wearing them!
I searched out the faces of my friends. Oh God, why this shit always happens to me?
I didn’t find my friends. What I did find was the face of an old boyfriend I hadn’t seen in years. We’ll call him Dexter, because that’s not his name, and he looks like Dexter. There was Dexter, looking at me with sheer pity. Some asshole behind me offered to lift me up to the bar’s stage, like I’d already drank my twelve shots of tequila. I mean really, I hadn’t even stripped down yet!
Dexter rescued me from the lascivious monsters, and we all partied together. Except that pantieless Amazonian brunette, she tried to start a fight with one of my friends, who was even smaller than I, and somehow it all worked out, really well, to the point that the pantieless Amazonian brunette wanted to go home with my friend, and my friend was not inclined, and for a little while, I thought there might be another fight based on rejection, but they just hugged it out, more or less.
I realize that you now think I have a panty issue, and you know what? This isn’t about you.
Dexter shared a house with several guys I went to school with.
One of them was quite surprised to wake up and find two women in his bed, one of whom wore his hat. He wasn’t upset by any means, just surprised.
Dexter made us all drinks, which I’m sorry to say, were Blue Bombay and root beer. It tastes exactly as foul as you think it does.
We listened to music, we slept, we might have fornicated in the dark, but no one knows, really, because if anyone did, we were very quiet about it.
Around seven, we said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways.
I walked in the front door all sneaky-like. You know how you do. You open the storm door just enough to get in. You rest it on your shoulder while you carefully, quietly turn the lock, and slowly push the door open, so as not to wake anyone.
My parents were not only awake, but having coffee at the dining table.
My mother, concerned expression, asked, “What the hell happened to you?!?”
“I was out with the girls, and we ran into Dexter, who shares a house with a buncha guys, so we went back to his place.”
“No, I mean, what happened to your clothes?”
Surely if I’d left without any clothes someone would have mentioned it.
“Were you in a fight? Who’s blood is that?”
I looked down. I was covered. I mean, covered, with splashes of pink and red. Yes, I had a fight with vodka cranberry, which apparently my friend spilled on me all night.
“Are you packed? We’re leaving in about an hour.”
Packed. Oh fuck again. We were off to family vacation.
“Yes. I’m packed.”
I spent the first day of vacation bikini’d and martini’d under the umbrella, because you know what? Hair of the dog is very effective.