Before I get into this particular tale of the weird, I would
like to give a little explanation. When I divorced way back when, I was
concerned about what lesson my kids would learn about life. I wanted them to
know that you could actually live a relatively moral life in the 21st
century. Consequently, I did not have overnight guests. I’m not saying I was
perfect, but I did try.
We are going to stay in 2013 for now, but only for a little
bit. New Year’s Eve, 2013, and I was doing what any other single American dude
was doing. I was watching football. I’m not a big party guy, so I had no
interest in going out. I was spending the evening by myself, since Kat, Bailey
and I had tapered off a few months back, and my daughter was at her mother’s.
Around 12:30, my doorbell rang, accompanied by shouts of “Open
Up!”, “Happy New Year!” and more banging. I got up pretty quickly to see who it was, although I
knew already. Kat and Bailey were standing, sort of, in the door way, in little
party dresses, heels, and glitter…so much glitter.
The girls walked briskly, I’m kidding, stumbled drunkenly
into the house, with their lips pursed for kisses, searching for my face with
no avail. I’ve spent plenty of time around people who drink a tad too much, so
I was able to direct them to a seated position on the couch.
My first question, “How
did you get here?”
“We drove.”
“Give me your keys.”
“We don’t plan to leave.”
These two could barely stand, much less drive. I walked
outside to see where they parked, and, sure enough, one tire was in the grass,
and the back end was well into the street. There were cars lining the street,
and they had missed them all. I have no idea how. I unlocked the car to move it
into a better position. As I opened the door, the alcohol smell hit me in a
wave. As alarmed as I was that they had driven in their condition, and made it
in one piece, I was at least somewhat pleased it appeared they drank good
bourbon.
I sat down without looking and a cloud of glitter burst
forth with a magnificent ppffffttt. Great, now I had glitter all over me. I moved the car
into position and got out. Walking to the door, I brushed millions and millions
of glitter pieces from my shirt, shorts, face, arms, legs, butt, feet, hair…you
get the picture. The trail from the car to the door would have done a unicorn
proud.
Now, here’s where the fun really started. I walked into my
house, and immediately noticed a bright blue dress on the living room floor…Bailey.
Further in the house a greenish dress was on the floor…Kat. It was time to
play, “Where Did They Go?” The retching sound coming from the guest bathroom
was my first clue. Bailey was on her knees before the porcelain alter, offering
sacrifices, and screaming to the heavens…in her underwear. I looked at her
(with her rockin’ bod, see previous episode), and I was filled with compassion.
I gently held her hair as she was sick, pulling it lovingly out of the way. Yeah,
right. I shut the door and waited her out. I wasn’t going in there to join her
in her ritual.
I went to find Kat, following the trail of glitter,
naturally. I stepped into the guest room, AKA the Spider-Cave (I have
Spider-Man sheets on the bed. Single guy). Kat was sprawled face down on top of
the Spider-Man, her panties hanging from one foot where she failed to get them
off completely. I should have taken a picture. She still claims she was fully
dressed. I maneuvered her under the sheets, and she never made a peep, other
than the snoring. Yes my dear, you snore. A lot. Loud.
I went into the kitchen and pulled out the sweeper to
collect at least some of the glitter that was now decorating my house. As I
walked the cleaner around the tile, Bailey came stumbling out of the bathroom,
Listerine bottle in hand, still gargling. I turned her around and made her spit
it in the sink, lest she swallow it and start the whole process all over again.
We walked, well, I walked and she did whatever it was she
was doing into the guest room, so I could get her into bed. She turned and
wrapped her arms around my neck, looking for a kiss. Well folks, I am a red
blooded man, and a good looking blonde, with a rockin’ bod, in her underwear,
wanted a kiss. What was I going to do? I sure as hell wasn’t going to kiss her.
Have you lost your mind? She just threw up a gallon of…stuff. I kissed her
cheek, and put her in bed. She didn’t protest too much, because she had hit the
wall.
Because it’s me, it just couldn’t end there. Around 3:30 am,
I felt my bed rock, and Kat slid up against me. She didn’t say anything, and I
really didn’t feel like getting up to move her. So, I let her sleep. What’s the
worst that could happen?
It turns out that the worst is pretty darn bad. I woke up
with Kat’s arm draped across me, and she was breathing/snoring, with her mouth
wide open. A few weeks ago I was privileged to be around a dead possum that was
few days old, sitting in the July sun in south Mississippi. It smelled better.
The girls finally stirred around 1:00. They took their
showers, and dressed in clothes they had brought in an overnight bag from the
car. That was when I realized it was a plan. Not a well-executed plan, but a
plan nonetheless.
I did force them to assist in glitter removal, which
continued for the next few days after they were long gone. Kat and I never
dated again, although we remain friends. I was reminded of the fun in October
of 2015, when I moved. I found glitter in the carpet under the couch. Still
makes me smile.
