I Have A Way With Very Drunk Men

Over the weekend, I went to a fourth of July party. The same party I have been going to for about a decade and a half. Did I never before mention I am a pretty boring, predictable person? I didn't? WELL I AM.

Anyway, this particular friend has a particular uncle, who got particularly drunk this fourth - and stole my dirty fork.

I was standing in the kitchen, eating my Jello salad, and this drunk uncle, whom I will henceforth call Ernie because he has certain Muppet-like qualities, stumbles on in.

[caption id="attachment_1084" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I KNEW IT!"][/caption]

Ernie: Rita says I can take a plate home!

Me: Well giddyup then. (Because, really, what does this have to do with me?)

Ernie: Alllllright then, now you know.

Ernie goes and makes himself a plate of food to go, and then comes back and asks me where the forks are. In the middle of my explaining, he looks down at my plate, takes my fork out of my Jello salad, sucks my food off of it, and says thanks as he walks away.

And it occurs to me: Every time I set down a Squirt, I would go to pick it up, and it would be empty.  By God, Ernie was food stalking me all night!

So thanks to my friend, for having an Uncle Ernie, and therefore giving me something to write about, and a special thanks goes out to his wife Bert, who gave him (and my fork) a ride home. (She doesn't look like a Muppet, for those of you keeping tabs on the Muppet-people I know.)