Bill and I have been known to 'tip a few'. I'm not much for fancy cocktails, but a cold beer on a hot summer night, well that's a different story, or it was at one time. I also like Champagne, the cheap stuff. (Once my Dad gave me a bottle of really expensive Champagne. It was horrible).
We used to go to a bar called Pine Hill. It was a big old honky-tonk and our favorite band was Julie Crawford and Amarillo. We traveled with an entourage back then. All we had to do was mention that we were going out on the weekend and suddenly 20 other people were tagging along.
Those were such good times. Of course that was before all the DWI laws went into effect and we were still young and foolish.
Believe it or not, Bill and I knew how to have a good fight. Add a few pitchers of beer, and it was on, lol.
One particular night we were one of the last of our group to leave the bar. God forbid we leave before the last set, the last dance. We hadn't gotten far down the highway when I began to comment on his driving. I thought he was going too fast and 'takin' his half out of the middle'. Finally I informed him he was to drunk to drive. Annoyed he pulled over to the side of the road.
"Think you can do a better job?" he demanded.
"Yes," I insisted.
"Have at it," he snapped and got out of the car and started walking.
Being the stubborn little thing that I was, (note past-tense) I slid over and got in the drivers seat. Starting the car I pulled up beside him and asked if he wanted a ride.
Being the stubborn man that he was, he replied, "Nope", and stomped away, his boots expressing his mood.
So be it! I drove away with a squeal of the tires.
About a mile or two, or three, down the road it occurred to me that I myself was to drunk to drive. Shit! I pulled over, shut off the car and got out. I was so drunk in fact that I left the keys in the ignition and my purse in the car. I hoofed it down the dark, deserted highway, my heels clicking on the pavement. After a while my feet were killing me, so I took off my shoes and carried them, bitching every step of the way.
At some point I noticed a car following me and got a little nervous. It was dark, I was alone and cell phones were not an option yet. Finally it pulled up next to me and a State Trooper rolled down his window.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
"Do you need help?"
"Can I call anyone for you? Give you a lift?"
He kept pace with me as we had this short conversation and finally drove away. Later I saw him drive back up the road, slowing as he passed me, but he didn't stop.
Apparently he got to Bill just as Bill was approaching the car that I'd left a few miles back.
"That your car?" he asked Bill.
"That your wife up the road?"
"Buddy, you've got enough problems," he told him. "Have a good night."
Bill sobered up after his hike and by the time he got to the car and then found me, I was more than ready for a ride home. He never said a word, just pulled up next to me and waited. I got in, tossed my shoes in the back and we went home. Argument over.
We went back to Pine Hill many times over the years, but I don't think we ever got that drunk again. Either that or I got so drunk I don't remember, no just kidding. One time I did walk right off the porch, missing all the steps. I was too busy watching an attractive man's butt, but Bill caught me. Actually he caught me in two ways. He caught me looking at the man's ass and he caught me in his arms so I didn't get hurt. He was good at taking care of me.
So Jan, there's my funny story. Considering I cried off and on all day, I guess it was nice to think about something else instead of how much I miss him. Love you, my friend.