I was at a friend's house this weekend. A group of us were sitting around the fireplace on his back porch drinking and chatting about life in general. It was chilly, but the big blizzard was still 24 hours out and the the fire was blazing so all was good.
The writer in me studied the group. An eclectic group on many levels. Almost sitcom-esque in makeup. The cigar smoking former Chippendale waiter turned big shot executive. The hairy rum swilling writer of women's fiction. An Australian triathlete. And don't forget Aaron, modeling his Hungarian Elmer Fudd hat.
Our wives were inside stirring soup and plotting adventures.
As we waited on even more of our group to arrive Murph, the cigar smoking host looked at me and asked, "Did I show you my new toy."
Those of us already in attendance proceeded tot he garage where Murph unveiled a gleaming Harley. He fired that bad boy up and told me to hop on. I shook my head.
"Come on take it for a spin."
"Nope. Not me. I'm fat and hairy but that doesn't make me a biker."
Speaking of Murph. Last week I went to a brand new doctor and much to my surprise the man talked exactly like my friend. So much so I couldn't help, but smile all the way through my physical. Now I'm sure my new doc thinks I'm some kind of weirdo and trust me the last thing you wanna do is grin like a damned fool when another man has you by the balls, but his inflection, tone and vocabulary were so eerily similar to my buddy I simply couldn't stop myself.
And that wasn't event he oddest thing about my visit.
I had to surrender some blood for a variety of test but I have notoriously bad veins. The roll, collapse and are deep and hard to find for even the most seasoned of nurses. The nurse tasked with extracting my blood was around my age maybe a few years younger and she tried hard but thirty minutes in she was getting pretty frustrated as her failed bid to become a vampire.
Finally she manged to get in a vein but my blood was tricking out one drip ... drop ... at ... a ... time. We would be there all ... day ... at ... that ... rate, so she reached for a syringe and said, "When I can't get what I want out of a man I usually suck it out."
I didn't want to snort but damn that was funny. Realizing her mistake she looked at me and said, "That sounded bad didn't it?"
I shrugged and said, "Well, I've had a lot more ominous threats presented to me."