Sunday night, after karaoke had finished, Beth and I were sitting at our table, talking to Dean and Bryan. Just the normal few minutes to wind down from that karaoke high (Hey, we said we were junkies).

This last Sunday, these brief moments were interrupted.

Some guy, who I’ve never seen before and don’t know, approached our table, apparently to speak to Bryan. His eyes were drawn to my notebook, prized for it’s ability to take notes for blogging and also carry my list for karaoke. My notebook with the pretty colored pages and with Red M&M on the cover. His eyes light up.

“Man! M&M’s! Can I sign it? I love M&M’s!”

I look at Beth. She looks at me. In our minds, we burst into laughter because yeah, who are you? Are you famous? Are you the Red M&M?

I say, in a cool & slightly condescending fashion (because I’m kind of a bitch) “Well, I suppose if you feel you must.”

His eyes fall on our drink glasses. His eyes light up (this may have been because he was drawn by the power of Beth’s bosom).

“What are you all drinking?” This is directed to Beth.

“Coke,” Beth says.

“Diet Coke,” I say (I do not add the usual “With a slice of lime.” My lime slices are too precious to me for them to be cheapened in bar small talk (Bobby and I may no longer have that connection but he still does have those glorious hands and he touched the lime slices with them)).

“Man! Coke? Is that it? Nothing in it?”

“No,” we both tell him.

“Why not? Don’t you want something alcoholic?”

“No,” we both tell him. I add the simple sentence “I don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink? Man! That sucks! Well, can I buy you ladies a Coke?”

Beth diplomatically tells him that we were just about to leave. I go to pay Bobby (if the tab comes to $7.50 and we give him a $20, how much of a percentage of a tip is that? I don’t do math. It is hard).

Later, as Beth and I are in the car, headed back to my apartment, we are laughing over this guy’s oddness (yeah, I’m still a bitch).

I tell Beth that the next time someone asks me why I don’t drink I’m going to say the following:

“Well, the last time I got drunk, I killed a man. So the parole officer says I can’t drink anymore. But if you want to buy me a drink, that’d be cool. You look like you’ve led a full life.”

I know we’re in a bar, people, but is it so odd that we don’t drink alcohol? I’m sure there are other people that don’t drink.

Seriously, think about this. I could not drink for a myriad of reasons. I could be a recovering alcoholic, I could be allergic to alcohol, I could just really love the taste of Diet Coke (with a slice of lime).

Or it could be that I discovered that I don’t need to be drunk to have a good time.

So, you decide. The next time someone asks me this, should I say it? A smart man would back off. A clever man would rise to the challenge with an equally witty comment.

Comments:

At 4:57 PM, Rev said…

Total for drinks: $7.50Amount paid: $20.00Difference (total tip): $12.5012.5 / 7.5 = 1.66666666666666666666666666666671.6666666666666666666666666666667 x 100 = 166.66666666666666666666666666667166%(and 2/3…that’s two thirds)Nearly 167% which is a REALLY good tip!I know that I probably would have given him $10. Does that make me cheap? It’s still a 33.3333333333333333333333333333333% tip.

At 7:27 PM, CarpeDM said…

33.33% is a good tip. I used to give him $10. Until I fell under the spell of the lime slices and the water and God, those hands. Okay, maybe there’s still some lust there.

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