Both beloved morons, the already tipsy one and my sis, smirked and tipped their chins my way. I raised my hand. “Worm Lady at your service. Now help carry the load and stop whining, Drummergirl.”
Then we (all of us that is, minus Victoria aka our designated driver for tonight) had yet another glass of rosé from the bottle resting with its fellow rosés in the blue cooler and shit started to get real.
Panda became quite chatty and no less loud, delivering treats we usually discuss in much less public places. The topics ranged from Brazilians to is anal a taboo topic? To does size really matter and whether fish really smell like – you see we had to stop her at a certain point, and by stop I mean covering her chatty, crazy little mouth with my hand that smelled like . . . fish.
Needless to say, the few guys fishing around us, “minding their own business” were more than intrigued by Panda’s performance.
“Did she have anything to eat before you guys picked us up,” I ask Victoria who’s listening to Panda, nearly on the floor laughing her heiny off.
Cracking up, Victoria shakes her head. She takes a deep breath to contain herself. “Not that I’m aware of.” She turns to Pandora who’s singing Adele so off-key I’m afraid the fish are about to jump out of the water so they can die and stop the torture. “Hey Adele, did you eat anything today?”
Thing is, Pandora can hold her liquor just as much as the next guy. Unless it’s on an empty stomach. The last time she drunk this much without food in her system we ended up in a police car. That time, I turned on the charm and we got off easy. Not before we took a selfie with the cute officer, of course.
Eyes unfocused and happy, Pandora grins at us and shakes her head. “I had cereal and a banana for breakfast!”
“Okay, and then?” I prompt.
She shrugs. “Nothing, I thought we – we grab something together to – to – night.”
“Oh boy.” I turn to Kayla who’s observing the situation with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Do you have anything edible on you?” I ask and then turn to Victoria in question. For the next few moments, we each rummage through our bags.
“I have some gummy bears,” Victoria says, lifting her eyes to us. “Oh shit,” she murmurs to something she sees behind me.
Kayla and I turn our heads. “Oh, shit,” we say in stereo.
There are two somethings behind me.
One is a half-naked friend who’s in the process of shimming out of her jeans, mumbling/slurring something about swimming. Thank God she still has her bra on. Would be better if it wasn’t as lacy, but still. Small mercies.
The other is a park ranger who has suddenly shown up and is looking at Panda with the widest eyes. “Whoa, lady, you can’t—” He hurries her way. “Ma’am I need to ask you to—”
“Yum, cute,” Pandora says, drinking up the official looking man. She spins to look at us, losing her balance as she does, and falls right into Ranger Rick’s nimble arms. It’s such a clumsy affair that somehow his hands through a back embrace end up cupping Pandora’s nearly naked girls.
“God, I’m going to pee my pants,” Kayla wipes her eyes.
“I’m dying, here,” I contribute.
“Um, sir, we’re so sorry. We’re going to make sure to get our friend cover—,” Victoria assumes responsibility.
The poor guy’s blush is almost tangible as he stands frozen, keeping our friend and her bosom from falling off the deck. Slowly, he stabilizes her and helps her put her shirt back on. He clears his throat. “Ladies, this is a family place, please try to behave accordingly in the future,” he says, his eyes glued to Panda’s who grins at him and offers him her pinky.
Kayla, Victoria, and I trade mystified looks as Ranger Rick links his pinky with our friend’s for a pinky promise. His smile pushes his dimples to sink in.
“You have dimpilys! You’re sooooo much cuter-er than com-computer guy!” Pandora says to her new buddy.
He still grins at her as he says, “Glad to hear that, ma’am.”
Additional “this shit for real?” looks ensue between my friends and me.
“What’s, what’sss your name, dimpilys guy?” Pandora flirts drunkenly.
Dimples Ranger throws his head back with a chuckle. Then shakes his head, utterly amused. “It’s Danny, ma’am.” He extends his hand for a shake, which Pandora takes, and instead of reciprocating the gesture, unsteadily she brings it up to her lips and plants a kiss on it.
“This is fucking gold,” Kayla says animatedly.
Pandora shakes her head. “No.” We all, including Danny the Ranger guy, wait for her next words. “Jonathan! You’re Jonathan. Goes bb-etter with the dimpilys!”
Danny laughs, seeming to find Drunk Panda extremely charming. “Sure thing. And you are?”
Pandora bestows him a gigantic grin. “I’m Pan-Pandora, your future wife.”
That’s when I decide to step in. “Listen, Panda, I think we should call it a night.” And add, “Before discussing nuptials,” on a murmur.
“Hey,” Pandora raises a shaky hand to stop me. “Shu, you’re sup-sup, suppress! Suppressing my car-charisma”
“Maybe stick to simple vocab,” I say under my breath, attempting to help little drunko keep some of her dignity. Danny steps back, allowing me to talk to my friend. “Let’s go home, okay?” I say.
“KK,” Pandora says, nearly losing her balance again. “But first, I need a, wha-what do you c-call them?” Then she adds on a louder, excited tone. “A selfieee with Jon-Joathan.”
I roll my eyes.
Somehow Pandora manages to operate her phone as she gestures for Danny to join her. Playing along, Danny puts his arm around my friend and grins at the camera. Just before snapping the photo, Pandora smacks a kiss in the middle of Danny’s cheek.
Danny chuckles again, completely amused. He sends his hand to his back pocket and produces a wallet. A moment later, he hands Pandora a business card. “Call me when you’re sober if you remember any of this.”
Turning back to us, hugely grinning, Pandora shows us the card like a child who just got a sticker on her assignment. She turns back to Danny. “Of of-course I will, Jonathan. Tonight!” Then, “It’s des-tiny.”
Moments later as we make our way back to the car, Kayla says to no one in particular, “If this is how Drunken Fishing Nights usually go, I’m so fucking in!”
A Straight-edge Blade, Warm Towels, and the Three Josèphs
“Dude, it looks like one of those places where chicks go together to get their feet done, the male edition,” Freddie says, giving the four leather chairs a hesitant stare.
“You mean chicks and Francis,” I smirk at Billy who flips me the bird in return. I turn to Freddie. “And it’s getting their nails done, twat.”
“Nails, feet, vaginas, whatever. Chicks sit on chairs just like these, cackle shit about dicks and tampons, and get something done.” Freddie retorts seeming somewhat concerned about the ritual we’re about to partake in.
Billy and I shake our heads. It’s a fucking barbershop! One of my best friends is in a never-ending quest to embrace his metro sexuality while the other idiot is a semi-caveman, yet they somehow make this friendship work. Go figure.