With no potluck, no desk sex, and rum running out, Peter and I decided it was time to go. We were going to meet Austin and Shelly at Taco Shore. The Congressman’s Androgynous Female Receptionist had been unsuccessfully flirting with Mustached Mortuary Man and invited themselves along. We abruptly exited the party, leaving the poor Puerto Ricans without any guests and no one to help clean up.
At Taco Shore, we were given at a long table for six, and I realized too late I was seated next to Mustached Mortuary Man. Since we shared pleasant enough dinner banter, he must have thought that we hit it off.
Just as Mustached Mortuary Man stood up to leave, he dared to kiss me! With an open mouth! Not church tongue — porn tongue! In front of everybody!
Androgynous Female Receptionist followed him; any de-virgining hopes for the evening likely dashed.
I was manic. How dare he? When Mustached Mortuary Man was out of earshot, I stood up with my arms raving like a madwoman.
I sat on Peter’s lap, “What!? Just Happened!?” I screamed.
Peter, without missing a beat, answered my rhetorical question.
“This,” he said as he dipped me and with faux passion, kissed me. With an open mouth! Not church tongue — porn tongue! In front of everybody!
This was becoming a pattern.
Hysterical and borderline committable, I launched myself from his lap and ran toward the exit. Peter grabbed me by the arm and escorted me out of the restaurant.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Why did you just do that?”
“Because it was funny.”
Yada Yada Yada. Bickering back and forth with chatter only other drunks understand.
We ended up in the backseat of Austin’s car, still yelling at each other. Then Austin joined the screaming.
“You guys have to tell me where to go! I don’t know where you live!”
Peter: “Just follow the rails!”
Austin: “What are you talking about?”
Peter: “Just follow the rails! It will take us home!”
Later, Peter told us that he didn’t know we were riding in a car, but that we had gotten on the Metro and that Austin was the conductor.
In the meantime, Austin, not knowing where to go, decided to drive to Georgetown.
Peter and I rallied. We made up.
And finally a couple of hours later we had the facility to tell Austin where we lived.
One thought on “Not Church Tongue”
Omg 😆 write more like this. This is funny