| This is just a short little ditty spawned by a story my husband told of a weekend of R&R in Iraq during Gulf Storm. I’m surprised he even remembered the story, much less tell me about it. No profit, do not own, etc, etc. Maq probably won't remember challenging me to the word "perdunk". I used it anyway. Mel.
A Not-So-Sober Moment Ten hours into a 24 hour pass and Kirby has well on the way to accomplishing his goal of spending the time completely and utterly pickled. He’d already lost half his money in a poker game, but was confident he’d win it back before he returned to the line. Even drunk, Kirby was a smart poker player. Gripping the handrail, Kirby tripped his way up the scuffed stone steps to a restaurant and tavern he noticed on his way to the poker game the previous evening. He was mildly surprised he actually remembered it after all the whiskey he’d consumed during the game. When he pushed open the door at the top of the steps the music hit him like a blast of air. The smell was a mix of cigarette smoke, sweat, alcohol and food. To Kirby, it was a blessed welcome. The place was jam-packed with GIs and locals. He stood by the door, trying to find a place to sit. He really was getting a bit hungry. A pretty young waitress wandered over to help him find an empty seat at a table. Admiring the view, Kirby followed behind her already anticipating the bottle of wine he planned to drink. He gave only a cursory glance at the other inhabitants of the table he was led to. He wasn’t there for the company. Kirby ordered a bottle of wine and a plate of whatever they had that was hot, plentiful and cheap. He thought briefly of the friends he left back on the line, but only briefly. Some had already had their leave, others would go after Kirby got back. He kinda wished one of them had been able to come with him, but Kirby was also glad nobody was there to keep him from the singular pursuit of getting as drunk as possible. The wine and food arrived at the same time and Kirby had a hard time deciding which to tackle first. He poured an unsteady glass of wine and downed it in two gulps. Pouring another, Kirby tried to get a start on the food. Unfortunately, the amount of alcohol in his system was proving to be a problem when it came to using a fork. He fumbled with the elusive instrument several times until he was finally able to get a decent amount of food on it. Only to drop the fork before getting it to his mouth. Kirby smiled ruefully at his two companions and froze. He had a Major on his left and a Captain on his right. He thought the brass always hung out together. Not at local taverns. Attempting to appear sober but clumsy, Kirby reached for his fork once more. He fumbled it twice more before getting the hang of it and actually getting some food in his system. Of course, he consumed twice as much wine as food during the process. The nice big glass was much easier to work with. The more wine he drank, the harder it was for him to eat without embarrassing himself. The third time he dropped the fork on the floor, Kirby heard a snicker to his right. He flushed and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry sirs, ‘m ‘fraid I’m a little perdunk. Perdrunk. Pretty drunk. Havin’ trouble feating my ood. Fooding my eat. Eating my food.” The Captain smothered another laugh, but the Major just smiled. “It’s okay, son. That’s why we’re all here. Get a little drunk and forget where we are for a few hours.” Raising his glass, Kirby nodded tipsily. “Amen to that, sir. Amen to that.” END |