At a small Labor Day evening BBQ with friends, with both restaurants closed for the day, I sat sipping an Arnold Palmer cocktail, “not too strong”, masterfully mixed by the bartender-neighbor-best friend-hostess Phyllis, sitting around a fire chit-chatting. The conversation turned to this delicious mixture of lemonade and iced tea, and it’s apparent variations.
I NOW DIGRESS FOR A MOMENT. For those who read this blog–but don’t know me quite as well as others–this is a good time to introduce a fact about myself, relevant to the post. I am a terrible listener. Although, truth be told, that is sometimes due to the speaker–BIG yawn–it is more often due to the fact that my mind wanders. “Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin'” is a Pink Floyd lyric, written for me. I drift. I hear the noise–I am nodding most likely, suggesting that I am listening–and in all likelihood–I am “looking” at you, though those who know me most intimately will at times wave their hand in front of my face as they have noticed the “blankness” in my eyes, indicating I have “gone elsewhere”. (When my brother notices this, he is fond of ad-libbing in the middle of his conversation lines like; “and then the shark swallowed the guys arm whole and he had to kick himself furiously to shore while the pirates hurled flaming molotov cocktails” as I nod and mutter “that’s nice. hmm. interesting.” )
BACK TO THE FIRE
Me: “Wait. So you had FIVE Arnold Palmers, but you felt no buzz”
Storyteller: “Yes”
Me: “So wait, they tasted awesome, and no one knew what was in them, and you kept ordering?”
Storyteller: “Yea. I was thinking that any minute I was going to feel it, but they were going down so smooth, I ordered one after another. Then I had to go to work”
Me: “So wait, you thought you were drinking the version with alcohol, but they were just iced tea and lemonade?”
Storyteller: “Yea man. I even stopped to get something to eat because I was afraid of how drunk I was going to be, but nothing happened”
Me: “Ha! That’s really hilarious. I can’t believe the bartender kept giving you non alcoholic versions, and no one noticed”
Storyteller: “Yea, maybe she figured I was the designated driver or something. I sure caught a sugar-buzz!”
Me: “That’s awesome. What a great story. Where was this again?”
Storyteller: (looking now, a bit dumfounded) “Your place!”
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