Hello hello hello, everyone from all over the world!
The Old Soldier is in high spirits. I did all of my morning requirements: breathing and stretching exercises, one post up before noon, eat breakfast and wash the dishes and at least 15 minutes of apartment cleaning. When you are retired it’s easy to get lazy. My morning requirements guarantee that I get something accomplished before noon.
It’s around 4:00 in the afternoon on a mild (62), and what has turned out to be a sunny day in Pittsburgh. Oh, this morning the Old Soldier also shaved his head in preparation for karaoke tomorrow night at Del’s. That was another accomplishment. Now tomorrow I only have to shave my face. Got to clean up for the women, young and not so young.
I just came back from Del’s. I had two beers then went across the street to the supermarket and got three turkey wings for my crock pot. And since I did not spend any money yesterday, trying to stay within my budget, I picked up a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer at a bar down the street from the supermarket.
Then sitting at the workstation in my apartment, with the turkey wings in the crock pot and sipping on a can of beer, I wondered if I could put up another post before the blogging day was over. I came up with this story of mine from the archives. This version, I think it’s the first version, was published on November 15, 2008.
It was a rainy March night in Pittsburgh. I sat with a female friend in a bar at a table at the big window that looked out on Forbes Avenue near the campus of the University of Pittsburgh. She and I had been drinking and now we were waiting for our wings, celery and blue cheese dressing, you know, to sober up a little before class. We were both in our early forties and worked steady jobs and we were taking the same night class at Pitt. It was Friday and we were prepared for class and neither of us had to get up early Saturday. So we could afford to get a little drunk. I was single but had my eye on a classmate I hoped to hookup with soon and my friend had been dating a new man several months now.
“Boobs,” my friend said. “What the hell is it with all you men about boobs?”
“Don’t you know there’s more to a woman then just her breasts?”
Her breasts were large and for her age they looked pretty firm and still sat up relatively high. I said, “Lover boy working them over pretty good, huh?”
“I think I’m a cup size larger.”
“Well, maybe you’re just pregnant.”
She suddenly got quiet. I was just joking around. The waitress brought our wings.
“Everything all right here?” the waitress asked. I looked at my friend. She was staring out into the rainy night. A “Little Help From My Friends” by Joe Cocker was playing on the jukebox. There was a nice crowd, mainly undergrads, in the place.
“Two more beers,” I said. The waitress left. I said to my friend, “I was joking.”
She said, “I’m pregnant. He doesn’t know it yet.” She looked at me. “Now what do I do?”
“Stop drinking alcohol?”
“Smart ass. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean.”
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