Saturday, July 5, 2008

No Drooling in the Spinach Dip, Please!

You know when you go to a party and you don't know anyone but the person you're with knows at least a few people and you're afraid that Halitosis Hank --over there--in the corner sizing up someone's cleavage is going to single you out for a conversation regarding his shotgun shell collection and his last trip to Burning Man (in an air-conditioned RV)? Hank speaks always 6 inches too close to others' olefactories-- so you cling to the only person you know like a burr to cashmere. You know--without a doubt--that the person who dragged you kicking and screaming to this shindig has run with this crowd long enough to perfect her avoidance technique and that Hank is merely a relative who doesn't fit in anywhere else and that the party's hostess is merely being kind and merciful to her cousin--who always had "a rough time with the opposite sex..." And not the kind of rough time he has in mind, probably.That was Whoozyerbaby today; the nervous newcomer Her blood-curdling cries could be heard a hundred yards away--behind a closed door when she realized I hit the buffet without her. But I still managed to hand her off--just a little bit--so her teething self could drool on someone else for a change:

Hank sporting the ol' trademark "like bees to honey" beard. Notice the leer and the popeye. I wish J-the-hostess would get a clue about that person. Did I mention Hank's Napoleonic complex? Don't tell Hank that Hank is "little" or you'll be in for a real treat. Hank is all grown up and "super-big". Also, (and this is just my own observation) Hank needs to stop hitting (the hershey's) bottle so hard. Maybe the next party can double as an intervention:

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