Lately I seem to be managing stress better, for whatever reason. Despite work and school, I seem to have more time to do whatever.
That was the case this past weekend, so I went to hang out with my boy, the [infamous] Dishwasher. I’d been driving all over the place all day Saturday and was in need of some relaxation, i.e. alcohol, so as soon as I got off the phone with Diamond-in-the-rough, The Dishwasher and I went to a local spot we affectionately call ‘The Y-Pizzle.’
There was a good crowd there that night, though it wasn’t exactly crowded. The cigarette smoke wasn’t thick either, thank God, and we even found seats by the bar. When we’d first walked in, I noticed this one older woman looking our way. She was Caucasian, brunette, looked about forty-something, but didn’t look half bad. She was about 5’1”, had a nice, even tan going on, rather surprising for this time of year since most Caucasians turn rather pasty over the winter. She was all nice and trim, exuding rare middle-aged exuberance. In short, as J-Dub would put it, she could get it. The only evidence of indulgence or any form of vice was the cigarette dangling at her fingertips and the Bud Light in her other hand.
While I was hollering at the bartender, The Dishwasher was like Yo, that MILF keeps looking over here. I think she’s looking at you. I was like: No dawg, that’s all you. Then the drinks arrived and we momentarily got distracted.
Five or so minutes passed.
I inadvertently looked to my left - The Dishwasher was to my right - and would you know it, the ‘MILF’ was right there. She was leaning over the bar, five-dollar bill in hand, trying to get the bartender’s attention. I glanced over at The Dishwasher and he gave an almost-imperceptible shrug. A split-second later the bartender brought over 2 shots of Tequila. The Dishwater took one whiff of it, shuddered and pushed it over to me.
“You don’t want it?” Surprised, we both looked left at the lady, who was smiling at us. Her voice was young. Her teeth were damn near perfect, albeit a little hazy from cigarette smoke.
“Nah, I can’t handle it,” The Dishwasher replied, another involuntary shudder going through him. “Let’s just say I tried it twice before and I’ll never try it again.”
“I can take it for you, if you won’t,” she [helpfully] suggested.
“Sure,” he said. “Here you go.” He pushed the shot-glass over to her.
She took the wedge of lime, liberally sprinkled salt on it, then raised her glass and smiled at me. We bumped glasses, downed the fiery liquid in unison, nibbled on the lime and breathed back out, all under the scrutiny of the mildly amused Dishwasher.
“I’m [let’s call her Pam], nice to meet you.” We introduced ourselves.
“You live around here, Pam?” the ever-conversational Dishwasher asked.
“Do I look like a country bumpkin? Of course I don’t live here.” We had to laugh at that one. “I live in Florida. I’m a beach girl.” That explained the tan. “I love sun and partying and lots of money.” We were a little taken aback by this bit of TMI, but it made us all the more curious.
“Don’t we all,” The Dishwasher agreed. “If I’m not being too nosy, what do you do?”
“I work at [ABC Co.]. But I’m also a witch.”
We were instantly alert.
“Run that by me again?” I said.
She smiled. “I’m a witch, I said.”
My boy and I looked at each other, then back at her, and she must’ve seen our incredulity coz she laughed out loud. "I really am a witch."
Gotta split this post in two, seeing how I’m still at work and everything. Part deux coming up later.