Tonight as I stepped off the #22 Clark Bus, heading home from work, I was nearly bowled over by an amazingly drunken princess. She was out celebrating her 21st birthday, and somehow had lost all of her friends. She was stumbling through Wrigleyville, one broken sandal in her hand, crown on her head, and reeking of Cosmopolitans.
She said hello and started telling me all about her night, and how drunk she was, and how all of her friends, "Those DoucheBags!" had left her and headed out to another bar, she was going there to meet her friends, "Those DoucheBags!" and oh, yeah she was drunk, and the bouncer at the last bar almost didn't take her ID, "That DoucheBag!" and she thought I was a really nice guy for talking to a drunken stranger and she was glad I wasn't a DoucheBag!
Everybody, apparently was a DoucheBag... except me. We walked for three blocks because the bar she was headed to was near my apartment, she just kept rattling on. Now, I don't want to say that this chick was a porker, but she was definitely bigger boned than I am and truth be told if she had taken a header I'm not sure I could've helped her up. She kept stumbling against me and I was starting to worry that she might fall on top of me. Luckily, we made it to my corner, and as I bid the her good night she asked me if I wanted to come to the bar and have a drink with her and her friends. Tempting I know, but I opted to not go. Her friends sounded like a bunch of DoucheBags!
1 comment:
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