Water Boy

Dear Steve,

It is going to be really difficult to call you by your given name so you should start responding to the name “Fred” from here on out.  It’s just that you look exactly like Fred Savage.  You probably haven’t a clue who he is, but he played the role of 13-year-old Kevin Arnold in The Wonder Years back in 1980 B.C., way before your time.  He is cute, just like you – and young, just like you.  All of 23 you say but soon to be 24?  That October birthday is going to bridge our age gap tremendously!  Hit me up after you blow out the candles.

Anyway, it’s been days since the St. Patty’s party and I’m expecting you’ve sobered up by now.  I do hope you made it home and you’re not sitting in the Lost and Found.  My confidence in your designated driver was diminished somewhat when I heard him screaming, “why the fuck do my windshield wipers keep coming on when I try to shift into first!”  I don’t think he ought to be operating any sort of heavy machinery, including a blender.  In fact, I’m not all together sure he even passed his drivers test.  I strongly recommend he be downgraded to the Little Tikes Cozy Coupe and everyone else start driving tanks.  At least until the government issues smart cars to those “special needs” drivers.

Speaking of tanked, you’re a very composed drunk, Fred.  Even after your self-proclaimed and likely exaggerated 6-hours of drinking, you were still quite user-friendly.  I’ll bet that comes from years of practicing a pitch on the ol’ parents as to why you missed curfew.  It’s not easy to come home completely stewed and pull off an entirely fabricated 30-minute lucid-sounding conversation about how the fire department was slow to the rescue after you got stuck in the tree saving George and Helen – the lemur escapees from the Pittsburgh zoo.  And not to worry, the doctor said the slurred speech caused by the leaf-cutter-ant attack, would be improved by morning.  The High School drama club totally paid off.  If you don’t make it to the silver screen, you will make an excellent functioning alcoholic.  You’ve too much talent be homeless, brown bag in hand and begging for change.

St. Patrick’s Day was a bit o’luck wasn’t it?  I’ve been frequenting that watering hole in the hopes of finding just the right man to cultivate a long and lasting relationship with.  I have spent hours in laborious research and field experiments watching groups of langered boys heckling one another until one of them gets up the nerve to make a move.  My spirit, grit, courage and endless fight for the pie-in-the-sky keeps me pulling up a stool and throwing back one more oh-be-joyful as I search for my next 10 carat diamond ring.  But on St. Patrick’s Day, I found my pot of gold, my end of the rainbow, my four-leaf clover.  It just happened to be poured from a very, very young flask of cubic zirconia.

You were such gentleman, Fred. A very nice young man, as my Grandma would say.  I’ve sat at that bar all on me tod, many of nights.  Men, boys and women have sent over drinks of vodka, gin, tequila, whisky.  Imagine my surprise when the bartender brought over a glass of good old-fashioned tap water – straight from the spigot – on the rocks – no twist.  She slapped it down in front of me, spilling some of it with the delivery, as she yelled over her shoulder, “The gem at the end of the bar bought you a free water, honey.”  Now, I can smell bullshit from a mile away but what a refreshing change to see a boy too young, drunk and simple to bother hiding it behind a pile.  You probably don’t remember any of this but you’ve got to be wondering how your wallet got so light that night.  Free water is outrageously expensive.  It’s down right criminal.  The government should put a cap on it or cut back on the tax.

But Fred, you should have sprung for 2 glasses of water.  That was a critical mistake as you know.  It had to be a tad bit embarrassing when Kim stood up and scorched you for being a stupid, cheap, half-witted imbecile.  Really Fred, you always buy for the best friend.  Her approval is required to get in.  You had to peddle extra hard to make up for the lost ground, but I gotta hand it to you, you’re not a quitter.

Attached is a photographic diary of the events as they unfolded as a little keepsake.  You had a really good time that night.  We all did.  I hope you found your way home.

Le grá agus póga

Tammy

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