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Smackin' bitches

An adventure in the parallel fictional universe of too much drink


Kilkenny Ireland, March 2002 —

It's Saturday, the day before St. Patrick's Day. Had a bit of a wild one last evening, emotionally. Drinking and smoking with the lads. Dig this.

I didn't eat lunch; I had set out for an ATM, as it was payday & the money is lodged directly to my account. I hadn't eaten breakfast 'cause I hadn't had the money. I ran into Liana, a beautiful woman friend of mine, on High Street. We stood talking for a while. I suggested we walk toward the store where she was going. She suggested coffee. That was nice, but that meant that I ended up having coffee for lunch. Actually, it was really nice; I like Liana very much, and she likes me. It's rather sweet, really. It's too bad we're separated by her boyfriend disability. Or is it?

Didn't eat lunch; After work I went to Dunnes to shop. After checkout, I saw one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And I don't mean that lightly — she was absolutely stunning, soft beautiful body and face. She stood near the end of checkout with an infant in a stroller. I decided to go to the "off-license" and pick up some Guinnesses — because I'd have to pass by her to go that way.

And I tortured myself, for the last couple of minutes in that line. I have to go talk to her. There's no way I walk out of here with dignity unless I say something. When I went out, she was talking to some woman who'd come up to her.

Outside, I ran into Fabio and Lena, my "expat traveler" friends. I told them about it, and we stood at the windows overlooking the shopping floor, looking for her. She was gone. Chatted with these two — gave Lena a can of beer and popped one for myself. That's how that began. We went back to my pad and chatted for a while. Very neat folk. Smoked a number.

I cooled it for a while after they left — I mean after I drank the rest of the four Guinness & smoked more. sent Justin a text message; in a few hours he sent back that he was at Syd's. I crossed the street and had some beer in the pool room there.

When Syd's closed and we were the last ones out, around 1:30, the lads wanted to go to the Venue. I've mentioned how I feel about the late clubs — hate 'em. The only pleasure for me there last night was the female bodies rubbing drunkenly against me on the way in and up to the bar, and over to where we sit. Anyhow.

Sitting at the slightly-raised seating area on the far side, I was drinking a beer, smoking some cigarettes, talking to Gary. A woman standing down below gave the international sign for "do you have a lighter." I went for one in my pocket, but saw one on the table, and handed it to her. She lit her cigarette, and kept the lighter. I thought I saw her stick it in her cigarette pack. I asked her about it and she ignored me. I was not going to let it pass.

Talking about it later

...I had an intuitive moment. I felt that if I showed any doubt on the matter, that I would be supporting the whole wrong side of the story. I said nothing.

Gillian asked me if I'm proud of myself. I said "proud enough."

And she started to sit a little bit closer to me.

Don't ask me, boys....

I kept asking her, and she and her stupid friend kept acting like I was being creepy or something. Fuck them I wasn't buying it. I went down around the rail to get the lighter back. Bitch falls down on her ass. Swear to you. Plop. So she's lying on the floor — holding up this cigarette pack trying to stand. I grab the fag pack. It's full of cigarettes, no lighter.

My friends, who'd been coaching me back since the beginning, when I'd first become confrontational, finally convinced me to go back, sit down. "Don't tell me to fuck off; it's me — Molly" said. I knew that; I wasn't blacking out — but that helped bring me down a bit.

Okay. Okay. Fine. So, then, this other hag walks up to me, stands over me, facing me. She's just asking that I apologize for pushing her friend down. She was being very nice about it.

I said to Gary "Tell everybody I left because I'm not going to argue with this bitch," and I went home.

Stupid fuckers. I enjoyed it. Hindsight, I would've tempered the adrenaline flow a bit — but I didn't have hindsight at the time, did I? Oh well. Never saw the lighter again.

Haven't talked to my buds since then, but sent texts to Molly, Justin, Gary, and Eddie last night. Molly sent back, said we'll meet St. Paddy's Day. I'll see Justin today. Be interesting to hear their perspective.

Anyhow I thought that was a neat bit of adventure. Well, now, It's not the kind of story I'd like to be telling, but it's the one that happened.

— From an email, 16 March 2002

Steve Edwards