Toward the end of the evening of Terry’s 50th birthday party, Bonnie got tired and said she was leaving. We all bid her adieu much to the chagrin of Roger who had ridden to the function with her. He was concerned about fitting six people in the designated vehicle which seats five. Unbeknownst to Roger, Elliott had also left earlier in the evening in the designated vehicle to pick up his girlfriend and bring her back to Crockett Street. Roger, one of the brightest bulbs in our dimly lit group, quickly did the math and determined that we would now have seven people riding in a five seat vehicle.
This was of no concern to me because, as the designated driver, I had a seat no matter what. It was of no concern to Terry because, as she kept telling everyone, she and I and my brother once packed fourteen people into a Plymouth Fury in 1972 for a ride home from The Lighthouse on “teen night.” However, that’s a story for another day.
Every fifteen minutes or so, Roger would bring up the car seating situation and, every fifteen minutes or so, everyone would ignore him. Finally, someone other than Roger asked, “How are we going to fit seven people in the car?”
To which Roger replied, “I say we kill two of you.”
I suggested a race to the van which would have probably killed at least three of them. We finally decided on lap sitting rather than murder or death by semi-natural causes as the favored solution. Some of the men still can’t feel their legs but it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of riding with Laurie the Best Damn Designated Driver in Texas.
This was of no concern to me because, as the designated driver, I had a seat no matter what. It was of no concern to Terry because, as she kept telling everyone, she and I and my brother once packed fourteen people into a Plymouth Fury in 1972 for a ride home from The Lighthouse on “teen night.” However, that’s a story for another day.
Every fifteen minutes or so, Roger would bring up the car seating situation and, every fifteen minutes or so, everyone would ignore him. Finally, someone other than Roger asked, “How are we going to fit seven people in the car?”
To which Roger replied, “I say we kill two of you.”
I suggested a race to the van which would have probably killed at least three of them. We finally decided on lap sitting rather than murder or death by semi-natural causes as the favored solution. Some of the men still can’t feel their legs but it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of riding with Laurie the Best Damn Designated Driver in Texas.
4 comments:
You're the Best Damned Whatevr You Want to Be.
Lorna - You forgot to say, "Go, girl." :)
I HATE being the desingated driver. However I might have a different outlook now after reading your posts. Could be fun. My problem is that I have no patience for drunk people when I'm not one of them.
TexasGal - I definitely had fun but, there were moments when I would have loved to perk things up a bit with a shot.
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