Last night Nash, Hoop and I went out for a couple of drinks. First, I got tipsy. Ok ok, I got toasted. Then we went home. After that Hoop ate a PB&J sandwich in bed. Then I got sick.
Tink: Oh my God, what are you eating?
Hoop: A PB&J sandwich.
Tink: In bed?
Hoop: Why not? Want a bite?
Tink: No! Ugh, it's making my stomach turn.
Hoop: Peanut Butter?
Hoop: Peanut Butter is the All-American food!
Tink: I don't care. Can you please stop saying its name?
Hoop: I'm sorry. I'll just finish this sandwich real quick, OK?
Tink: I think I'm going to be sick.
I don't know which is more disconcerting, the fact that I didn't recognize anything I threw up or that I feel so absolutely horrible today. I feel like someone ran me over with their car, backed up, ran me over again, and then used me as a hood ornament.
That's "Ms. Erbell" if you're nasty: Nash's girlfriend just called me at work. "Is this Tink, Hoop's girlfriend?" She asked. Which I heard as, "Tink Hoopgurfend." "Um no," I answered politely, "This is Tink Erbell." Then she started laughing, which only confused me more. It's really not that hard to do in the state that I'm in. Or any state for that matter. Like Idaho. That state totally confuses me. Anyway... After she finished laughing she said, "No, no. I wasn't saying a last name. I was asking if this was Hoop's girlfriend." My next thought was, "If I say yes am I going to have to bail him out of jail or something?"
It's always odd when people you don't know very well call you on a number you never gave them. After I got over the feeling that I was being stalked, I tried to assess the situation for what it was. Another chance for eavesdropping coworkers to gain leverage on me. The bastards are always trying to get to know me better. The nerve. "What's wrong?" I asked Nash's girlfriend. "Nash didn't call me last night!" "Don't worry, he's OK. We were out drinking until late." Shit. Did I just say that? Now they know I drink! They're going to be gossiping about it over the coffee pot... Wait. You work at a beer distributor you dope.
"Oh, phew. That makes me feel a whole lot better." You would have thought that might be the end of our conversation. But no, Nash's girlfriend is sweet and talkative and only 20 years old. She could talk for fifteen minutes on eight different topics with only one breath. If I could bottle her energy and enthusiasm I'd be rich. At the end of our talk she piped in with, "So don't tell Hoop and Nash I called, K?"
Who says that to someone they don't really know? That's pretty presumptuous. She's requesting I not tell my one confidant, who hears about such trivial things as what color my snot was today. It's yellowish green if you're curious. The first time she said that to me it had been preceded with, "I think I'm pregnant with Nash's kid." I had known her all of two hours. She's not pregnant btw. I'm waiting for the "I just robbed a bank" call where she asks me to harbor a fugitive and not call the cops.
I don't need a cure for a hangover. I need a cure for people who want to pester me while I'm on one.