Kinda wanted a cocktail with my linner.
“Maybe I should wait til I get some food in there,” I said.
The Mister encouraged me to cocktail, as he often does, cause who doesn’t prefer a more relaxed Joey? He likes me all giddy and affectionate, and we can’t fault him for that.
“I will have a watermelon margarita.”
Behold its incomparable beauty:
I was fine until it was time to leave. I thought the booth, the six feet of solid wood mounted on the floor, swayed beneath my bottom. The Mister gave me a hand as I slid out. The floor was wicked uneven, I swear. I wobbled out and the next thing I knew, my bag was way out in front of me, then up over my head and I was down on the walk, which I promise you, was unwavering concrete.
The Mister was sure it was because of my tall shoes. He instructed me to take them off. I told him I’d hold on to Sassy and he could take off my shoes. I lifted my leg for ease of removal. It tickled, so I laughed as I clung to Sassy, and Sassy laughed cause my laughter tickled her neck. Another foot to go!
She flopped around trying to escape my clutches and I clung to her tighter and tighter, while both of us yelled, “No! Stop! HAHAHA! No! Stop! HAHA!”
We gave the window diners a real show, I’m sure.
I don’t know why this happens to me. Sometimes I’m a lightweight and sometimes I can drink like I usta could. And I never know which.
I tell you what, if you’re like me and you fall down plenty when you’re sober anyway, may as well make the most of it and order the watermelon margarita.
Happy Friday Everyone!