car.
"Not one of you could do a simple trust walk?” Ginny asked, apparently shocked beyond belief.
“Not one?"
"What the heck happened out there?” Kris inquired.
"Trust is overrated,” Laura quipped, but offered no humor to accompany it.
"It's my fault,” Alison stated.
"No, it wasn't,” Holly defended.
"Actually—"
We all spun around to see a muddy Lisa approaching. She looked through us all and kept her eyes riveted on Alison. “Actually, it was my fault. I overreacted. I'm sorry."
"Oh, Lisa!” Alison cried as she ran to her and threw her arms around her.
As they moved off to the side to talk, we silently turned back to Ginny and Kris. Awkward glances were exchanged, and envelopes were handed out to each couple.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6
Back in the car, it seemed an unspoken, mutual decision not to talk about what had happened. I so wanted to wag my finger in Claudia's face, though. How could she even begin to think that her colors resembled those of that other?
"Where are we headed this time?"
I ripped open the envelope and announced, “Happiness prevails! Yes! Can you dig it?"
"I can dig it!"
I held the sheet for us both to read.
The time on the clock says happiness prevails.
At least, that's what we're hoping this clue entails.
You have worked hard all day long, led by the nose.
This time no Greek, no French, just time to repose.
Spirits are calling; there is no time to lose.
There may be some jazz or it could be the blues.
For the win, one must designate the other and then collect three sticks that vary by color.
"Happy hour ... spirits ... jazz ... blues.” Claudia rattled off what seemed obvious.
"Designate the other?” I questioned.
"Designated driver! Three sticks that vary by color. Let's see..."
"Swizzle sticks!” and “Stir sticks!” we yelled in unison.
"Okay, so one of us gets to drink, the other has to drive, and we need three different colored swizzle/stir sticks to win,” she summarized.
"I don't think only one of us gets to drink—just that someone has to be sober enough to be legal."
She corrected, “Ah, so one can get shit-faced but not the other."
"Yes, so you can drive and I'll have another,” I rhymed in my very best sing-songy voice.
She slapped my thigh and begged, “Oh please, don't do that. Things have been rhyming in my head all day. It makes me crazy."
"Well, then maybe a little booze will make it all hazy."
"Shut up!” she yelled but couldn't hide that laughter that tagged along with the words.
We were tired—and giddy from it. Some time to unwind sounded so very good.
She started the car and asked, “Jazz or Blues?"
"I vote Jazz,” I said. “How about Fat Cat on Main? And who's the lucky one who gets to get shit-faced?"
She reasoned, “I think it might be better if it's you. You hold it better."
"Yeah, but I drive better."
"My God, you're being obnoxious!"
"All the less reason for me to drink. And besides, if I hold my booze better, then I can have a drink and still be fine. I vote that you drink and I drive."
"Let's flip for it then."
I grabbed a quarter from the ashtray/vault and tossed it in the air. It ricocheted off the ceiling, bounced on the console, and fell under the seat.
She grabbed another, rolled her eyes at me, and asked, “Heads or tails?"
"Heads."
"Okay. Heads you drink. Tails I drive,” she proposed, and I almost missed it, but not quite.
"Want to reword that? I'll start rhyming again if you don't."
"Fine. Heads you drink. Tails I drink.” She flipped the quarter, and it landed tails up on the mat.
Within twenty minutes, we were belly up to the bar at Fat Cat.
"Hi, Kate,” Dave, the owner/bartender greeted me. “Are you here officially or just visiting?"
I had written a review of Fat Cat some months back. My job as a reporter for theGranton Journal took me to lots of places throughout the city. I think I hit Fat Cat on Fat Tuesday.
"Not one of you could do a simple trust walk?” Ginny asked, apparently shocked beyond belief.
“Not one?"
"What the heck happened out there?” Kris inquired.
"Trust is overrated,” Laura quipped, but offered no humor to accompany it.
"It's my fault,” Alison stated.
"No, it wasn't,” Holly defended.
"Actually—"
We all spun around to see a muddy Lisa approaching. She looked through us all and kept her eyes riveted on Alison. “Actually, it was my fault. I overreacted. I'm sorry."
"Oh, Lisa!” Alison cried as she ran to her and threw her arms around her.
As they moved off to the side to talk, we silently turned back to Ginny and Kris. Awkward glances were exchanged, and envelopes were handed out to each couple.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6
Back in the car, it seemed an unspoken, mutual decision not to talk about what had happened. I so wanted to wag my finger in Claudia's face, though. How could she even begin to think that her colors resembled those of that other?
"Where are we headed this time?"
I ripped open the envelope and announced, “Happiness prevails! Yes! Can you dig it?"
"I can dig it!"
I held the sheet for us both to read.
The time on the clock says happiness prevails.
At least, that's what we're hoping this clue entails.
You have worked hard all day long, led by the nose.
This time no Greek, no French, just time to repose.
Spirits are calling; there is no time to lose.
There may be some jazz or it could be the blues.
For the win, one must designate the other and then collect three sticks that vary by color.
"Happy hour ... spirits ... jazz ... blues.” Claudia rattled off what seemed obvious.
"Designate the other?” I questioned.
"Designated driver! Three sticks that vary by color. Let's see..."
"Swizzle sticks!” and “Stir sticks!” we yelled in unison.
"Okay, so one of us gets to drink, the other has to drive, and we need three different colored swizzle/stir sticks to win,” she summarized.
"I don't think only one of us gets to drink—just that someone has to be sober enough to be legal."
She corrected, “Ah, so one can get shit-faced but not the other."
"Yes, so you can drive and I'll have another,” I rhymed in my very best sing-songy voice.
She slapped my thigh and begged, “Oh please, don't do that. Things have been rhyming in my head all day. It makes me crazy."
"Well, then maybe a little booze will make it all hazy."
"Shut up!” she yelled but couldn't hide that laughter that tagged along with the words.
We were tired—and giddy from it. Some time to unwind sounded so very good.
She started the car and asked, “Jazz or Blues?"
"I vote Jazz,” I said. “How about Fat Cat on Main? And who's the lucky one who gets to get shit-faced?"
She reasoned, “I think it might be better if it's you. You hold it better."
"Yeah, but I drive better."
"My God, you're being obnoxious!"
"All the less reason for me to drink. And besides, if I hold my booze better, then I can have a drink and still be fine. I vote that you drink and I drive."
"Let's flip for it then."
I grabbed a quarter from the ashtray/vault and tossed it in the air. It ricocheted off the ceiling, bounced on the console, and fell under the seat.
She grabbed another, rolled her eyes at me, and asked, “Heads or tails?"
"Heads."
"Okay. Heads you drink. Tails I drive,” she proposed, and I almost missed it, but not quite.
"Want to reword that? I'll start rhyming again if you don't."
"Fine. Heads you drink. Tails I drink.” She flipped the quarter, and it landed tails up on the mat.
Within twenty minutes, we were belly up to the bar at Fat Cat.
"Hi, Kate,” Dave, the owner/bartender greeted me. “Are you here officially or just visiting?"
I had written a review of Fat Cat some months back. My job as a reporter for theGranton Journal took me to lots of places throughout the city. I think I hit Fat Cat on Fat Tuesday.
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