Wait, what? It’s already Friday? It feels like it’s only been 4 days. Oh. Yeah. Well damnit, that was quick. It couldn’t have come at a better time. So, we’re all dusting off our hands, surreptitiously glancing at the clock as its hands ever so slooooooowly head towards the end of the workday, stuffing our “out” box with our “in” box items not yet completed, wishing we hadn’t drank the last of our credenza booze last week (Friday late afternoon to be exact, hell that was the week that never seemed to end)(should have put that item on last weekend’s errands list), searching for that proper tune(s) on our playlist to finish the day/week with the appropriate flourish, and anticipating that paperbag beer that waits for us at the corner convenience store (middle cooler, look at that gauge why don’t you? 31°.) . There it is, the magic hour. GO! Now! What are you waiting for? Those waiting cocktails won’t drink themselves. The town is waiting for that red paint, the night is waiting for your warm embrace, and this work week is ready to be shed like that flimsy little cotton number your squeeze wore on your fourth date (or third, or second, hell, or first. It’s our secret.). Crank those driving tunes up, you can sing along even if you’re not totally in sync with the lyrics (unless of course it is a tune by ‘N-sync, then you need to pull over right now, and get yourself right with the world.), take a discreet sip from that paperbag, and get yourself to your destination. Heading home? Step 1: enter, smootch, pet, turn towards your bar. Step 2: set out, use tongs, open, unscrew, pour (pour again), cut, stir, repeat, hand off, toast, sip, repeat, repeat, and again (kind of like aerobics). Step 3: select, push play, increase volume. Step 4: repeat Step 2, and ever so stylishly head towards the start and the enjoyment of your weekend. If you have decided to venture out into the beckoning night, here it is: another round, for your squeeze as well; hell, why not one more?; head to your closet, I’m thinking a smootch and a pat on the bottom on the way seem apropos; select your look for the evening (let’s go with casual, but not too casual, some color, silk, loose cotton, nicely pressed); yep, spot on; a touch of fragrance; check that mirror one more time (“Looking good Billy Ray.”); a compliment and a smootch for your squeeze; a jaunty walk down the hall; confirm/make any required reservations; get those new bills; determine who has the domain of tuneage selection; pour those roadies; all tunes at medium-high; smootch at the stoplights; if you’re feeling lucky get those lottery tickets (or turn yourselves back to home and get busy, if you know what I mean); use the valet; enter like a boss; survey the room; your manners are of course, assumed; firm handshakes and polite kisses; order like you know what you are doing; tell some great stories; wink at a stranger; Have another round; tip well; drive safe; while smootching at the stoplight give a nuzzle (that top button might have to be undone as well); double cheeseburgers with fries at the drive-thru; glide up the drive with the tune rocking; a nightcap and I’m thinking a classic horror film in the background or the option of some groovin’ reggae; and you have given the night all it and you deserve. Hey, you know that coaster you lifted from the bar while you were waiting for your table? Use it and then make sure it’s secure. You don’t want someone stealing it and sharing photos of it unadorned on the internet. Until next week.
Posted on: Fri, 05 Sep 2014 21:47:33 +0000
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