23
Mar
I should let you in on a couple of facts about me that are very important to the story of the DRUNKEST WOMAN I’VE EVER SEEN. First, I love to go dancing but am very uncomfortable in dancing with women. You probably already know this, but it’s once again relevant and worth re-mentioning. I cannot dance with women. Secondly, and probably more importantly, I don’t drink. Ever. Don’t worry, I’m not judging you because you do or just randomly bestowing the DRUNKEST WOMAN I’VE EVER SEEN award on some poor girl who was just a little tipsy. Trust me. I know drunk, and this was DRUNK. Very, very drunk.
I met the drunkest woman ever at a dance club. My friends and I were looking pretty dapper that night, a fact born more from thriftiness than from an actual desire to dress up. The biggest soul dance party in town had implemented a dress code that, if followed, netted you half-price admission. This move also answered the important question: “how much would it cost to make you and your friends wear ties and sweaters and be totally uncomfortable for an entire evening of dancing?” Apparently, it’s $5.
We managed to enjoy ourselves despite the restrictions of semi-formal attire and found ourselves pretty worn out as the night drew on. We left the dance floor as a group but separated to grab a drink at the bar or to use the restroom or, in Josh‘s case, find some rest and alone time against a pillar on the outskirts of the dance floor. And that’s exactly where I found him upon my return, being accosted by the drunkest woman ever.
It was immediately obvious that she was totally wasted and that Josh was somewhat frightened. Her eyes drooped. She moved as if standing on a water bed. He strained to understand what she was saying to him. She was tugging at his sweater, clearly aggravated at something. Josh had an unforgettable look of bewilderment and an obvious need for some backup. And I was there for him (and am still waiting for my thank you).
As I approached, this hell spawn of alcohol became fixated on me and immediately stopped talking. She locked eyes with me and grabbed my hand, yanked it, and dragged me deep into the dance floor where I would be stuck in a sea of sweaty dancers, totally and desperately separated from all my friends. All my back up. Any chance of graceful escape. I was stuck, in the middle of this club, with a girl who had no discernable soul behind her eyes. Just pure liquor.
She still chose to avoid speaking. She swayed side-to-side a bit, but not enough to disturb her balance. I danced a little but focused my attention on a means of escape. I didn’t think to speak with her. I was afraid of what she’d say or even what her voice would sound like. But my gaze was snapped to her as she once again became very agitated. She began trying to remove my sweater from my body. Annoyed at the futility, she switched to my tie which she tried to loosen and lift above my head. She was getting nowhere as I was forciably removing her hands from my clothing. She finally spoke.
“WHY ARE YOU DRESSED LIKE THIS?”
She was angry at me and Josh for being dressed up. Without thinking, I tried to rationalize with this mess of a person. “Oh, we were following the dress code. We wore ties and stuff and got in cheaper.”
“SO WHAT?”
“Well, I guess they just want to try to make this thing a little classier? I don’t know… don’t you think everyone here looks nice?”
“NO. TAKE IT OFF.”
“I’m not going to take it off.”
And then she grabbed my face and licked it.
If I had to piece it together, I’d say that she was trying to kiss me. She was quite a bit shorter than me and moved to her tip toes to bring her mouth to my face. She’d missed my mouth, though, but still went WHOLE HOG with the tongue, landing what would have been a really sloppy french kiss on the underside of my jaw.
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Thank you!
And… you are welcome!
When’s the wedding?
oh man oh man oh man!