One drink

I walked out the door of my apartment on Saturday night with the announcement to my flatmates that I would return after one drink.

One was sipped at an outdoor, alley Tiki bar, crowded around a table making a drawing book mural, staring despite oneself at Ugly Naked Guy who lived in the apartment above and meeting the clone of my crush - that is, the gay, highlighted, more outwardly outgoing clone of my crush.

Another one was enjoyed at the local, divey-yet-comfortable watering hole a block away. A patron turned the fan toward K and myself as we sat and chatted, which prompted the cooling yet 1980s-music-video-inspired hair blown back effect. Oddly enough, when this individual (significantly older than myself) asked for my - er, Sarah's - phone number, he did not walk away with the digits. He sent his friend to introduce himself to us and, seemingly, make sure our names were legit. Triiiiicky. Sarah coolly shook hands and said good night to the both of them.

The final one was placed onto the dance floor railing at the last bar, shortly before I took hold of one of the microphones and began laughing at the poppy electronic intro pulsing through the speakers. I always knew Jason was a karaoke option, but I'd never actually considered singing it. We instinctively added all of the "ad-libs" that have been burned into our subconscious over the last several years. "Well I heard a-two men talkin on the rrrrrrradio..." So we butchered it. But it was fun, dammit.

The "piss-pour" (self-proclaimed) mood I was in upon setting out for my one drink had dissolved into self-deprecating giddiness by the time I walked back up Church Street toward my home, as I rolled my eyes at the "Hey there"s and "Damn"s that come with walking by the closing-time crowds in a skirt. I was ready to collapse into my bed and sleep without alarm-clock-waking, but as I fumbled through my purse, I realized my keys were not creating the typical jingle I'm used to.

After four phone calls, banging on the sunroom door and hesitant tapping on B's screen window, I was let into the apartment. The phone had been on vibrate, the sunroom knocks had sounded faint and the tapping didn't make sense because she thought I was sitting in the living room.

A round of mutual apologies - "I'm sorry to wake you!" and "I'm sorry I didn't wake right up!" - later, I called K back to say I didn't need to walk back across town to crash at her place, laughed over the evening and then collapsed into bed to sleep until noon.

I only planned on one drink...