Page 4 of The Leaves In Autumn
Something comes over me, and I attempt the Hammer dance. Just because she made such an effort.
“Can’t touch this!”
Doesn’t go as planned. My tennis shoe hits the leg of the coffee table, causing me to trip. Her hand reaches out.
“Watch it old man.”
“Old man? Then you are an old woman. There’re only a few years between us.”
“First of all, there’s more than a few years between thirty-nine and forty-fucking-eight. Would an old woman be able to pull this off?”
She poses in her schoolgirl outfit.
“Guess not. But you might be wearing granny panties or adult diapers under there. I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m not.”
She doesn’t know I claimed theoldtitle for myself, not ten minutes ago. The cork is returned to the wine, and I head to her “bar,” the small pantry in the hallway, storing the few bottles of booze accumulated.
“We’re going to need something stronger. What do you have?”
“Good idea. There’s a new bottle of tequila and maybe some margarita mix. But not much, I think.”
I grab the Patron.
“No need for mix.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll get the glasses. I have a great drinking game we can play while we eat. I thought we could dine at the coffee table. You know, like teenagers. While we watch TV.”
“Let’s have a shot first. Are we really having that packaged crap you said?”
“You know you like nutritionally worthless food on occasion. Talk to the hand.”
A smile is my only response to the phrase no one has said for decades.
“Okay here we go.”
Handing her a double shot, I pour one for myself. This night will be best experienced drunk.
“To the naughty nineties!” she calls, raising the glass.
“To getting jiggy wit it.”
We down the shot and it burns just the right amount. Barbra does a freaky little dance that ends with a pointed finger to the sky. I state the obvious.
“Wrong decade.”
“That is what we professionals call creative license. Look it up.”
“I didn’t realize you went pro.”
“Let me tell you about the drinking game.”
“What is it?”
“It’s called Take A Sip.”
“At least it isn’t a shot.”
