“How much did you have to drink?” I ask.
“Let’s see,” she says, “there was tequila and bourbon…” she’s using her fingers to count. Trying to get her hands under the water is a nightmare. “Oh!” she ejaculates, both of her hands going up in the air, peanut butter landing in one of my favorite eyes. “Then there was the big shot, but I puked, so that makes four!”
“You’re not supposed to mix large quantities of different kinds of alcohol,” I say. “It’ll make you sick.”
“I didn’t drink a lot,” she says. I’m having a bit of trouble believing her. “I had four drinks.”
“Four drinks,” I say. “Sounds like you’d better ease up on that party lifestyle, you crazy animal, you.”
I don’t even get buzzed until shot number six.
After finally persuading her to put her hands under the faucet, I squeeze a generous amount of dish soap into her hand and start rubbing her hands together, hoping she’ll get the idea. Her mind is on different things entirely, though.
“It seems like I can’t attract a decent man,” she tells me. “That is, when I can attract anyone at all.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I tell her. “You’re a beautiful woman. You can’t hold your liquor worth a damn, but that’s not a crime.”
“You’re so nice,” she says, and I’m starting to get worried.
That’s got to be the first nice thing she’s somewhat willingly said to me.
“I do what I can,” I say, and give up on trying the fantasy of getting her to wash her own hands, cleaning them one at a time, myself.
“I’m not a virgin, you know,” she says.
“That’s really none of my business,” I tell her.
“No, I’ve seen the way you act around me. You think I’m some prude who never does anything crazy.”
On the word crazy, both of her hands go up in the air. Maybe the dish soap will help clean up the bits of peanut butter.
“I think you’re a very nice person who’s having a rough day,” I tell her, and help her get her hands under the water. “Maybe you should dial back the drinking, though.”
“Oh, you don’t know,” she says. “I know you stick your dick out and women just come running, but it’s harder for me.”
And now I’m trying not to laugh.
I finish helping her rinse her hands and I shut off the water. The plan was to give her a towel, but she’s decided to use her pants instead.
Close enough.
“Maybe we should get you to bed,” I tell her.
“I’m not tired.”
“Yeah, but I think you should lie down before you fall down. You seriously only had four drinks?”
“Hey, man, four drinks is a lot for me,” she says.
“Oh, I g
et that.”
“Maybe help me over to the couch?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I tell her. “I’ll put on a movie for you.”
“You know, Dane,” she starts.