“Let’s go for a drink.”
My Dad was daring me.
Down the street on Connecticut Avenue were two competing Irish Pubs, Nanny O’Brien’s and The 4 P’s. I was partial to the latter, and luckily, they had live music that night. We sat down.
“Guinness please!” I had to shout to be heard.
“Same here!” Dad also had to shout.
“Pint or half-pint?” she asked.
Hell, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a half-pint outside of Little House on the Prarie.
One. Two. Three. Four. Watch Dad hit the floor.
He had switched to the half pint on the third one. He was done. He didn’t care if people did or did not see a young brunette accompany him to the hotel; he just wanted to go to bed.
Maybe it was Columbus Day weekend because lots of other parents of my classmates were visiting as well. I recognized a table full of them, so I pulled up a chair when Dad left.
This is where Dad should have stayed because he could have called “checkmate.”
I ended up doing flaming Dr. Pepper shots with a dad who was British and so damn charming I couldn’t say no. When they all called it a night, I checked my watch and saw I could catch the last Metro and meet up with Callie.
This was a terrible idea.