Littlefly brings us back to the dangers of the drunken dating front -
How does someone deal with something like this? It wasn’t so much that on the particular occasion I felt shocked and totally confused (and it truly was those things…it wasn’t just drunk). It was that I had to come to terms with the fact that things like this happen.
People have experienced worse things, of that I am sure. Things involving blood, physical trauma. I wasn’t in any kind of danger. I simply never saw it coming.
Birthday parties at Irish pubs are so much…fun. A proper end to something that is so “fun” can only be one of three things: pizza, greasy diner food or donuts. There was no guilt involved when we stopped for a full half-dozen doughnuts. I’d already downed an eighth of whiskey- there was not much guilt involved about anything at that point. They seemed the sensible treat to share before we retired to a drunken slumber.
Bladder bursting, I booked it for the bathroom the second we stepped through our front door. But, maybe he could hear me? To deal with my bout of stage-fright (re: drunk paranoia) I ran the water. I thought about whether or not he knew the tap was on because I didn’t want him to hear me pee – I guess the whiskey didn’t succeed in erasing all my shame. Damn the countless trips to the bathroom during a night of whiskey and beer – he probably thought I was some sort of monster.
After what seemed to be a lifetime I finally finished. I washed my hands, ran my fingers through my hair and started out the door and down the short, narrow hallway.
I knew he heard me coming because my heels were loud on the wood floor…in the way that sound is twice amplified when you’re hammered. I also seemed to be “stomping” if you will, allowing my feet to come down like a ton of a bricks. The planks creaked like the floor of a good old beachfront home does.
Upon reaching the doorway of the bedroom I hesitated…I couldn’t tell you what told me to do so…perhaps the ghost of Jack Daniels kindly tried to interfere and stop me from witnessing true horror. I stuck my head just within the frame and I saw his back to me. He was in a hunched position at the edge of the bed. He was very involved in what he was doing…and at this point it still could have been anything. Only a single bedside lamp was on. The illumination of the room was soft and dim. He could have been taking his shoes off. He could have been scratching an itch…killing a bug…countless things…
I got the feeling I was intruding and began to feel uncomfortable. There was a sense of shame in the air…. And though the possibilities disgusted me to think them, I thought “My God, is he doing what I think he’s doing?”
To his left on the bed was the television remote, to his right…the Dunkin Donuts bag.
I shifted and the floor creaked.
His head turned slowly.
“Hello?” I said it quietly, afraid.
He stood up, spun around and snatched the Dunkin Donuts bag off of the bed gripping it tight to his chest.
I took a step back. The light of the lamp illuminated his face.
Then I saw it. White powder. The remnants of the 2am batch of powdered donuts. On his chin. Around his mouth. Spread across his cheeks.
We stood stuck in a staring contest and a million thoughts ran through my head.
He suddenly scurried to the garbage and deposited the empty bag. I jumped at the sudden movement. Then he nervously muttered “Excuse me,” before running out of the room and past me.
I was left in the doorway of the bedroom bewildered. I heard the faucet in the kitchen running. I looked into the garbage at the crumpled Dunkin Donuts bag and that’s when the massacre became clear to me. His 3 doughnuts weren’t the only ones that were slaughtered. My poor donuts had also sacrificed to this interesting ceremony.
After a few moments he pushed past me back into the bedroom and I wanted to drunkenly slur “Hey don’t f-ing push me out of the way you disgusting donut-hog son of a bitch.” But instead he spun around and stared at me with wide, bloodshot eyes and a face only half clean and said “mmmpht blalala phist” before going over to the bed and passing out.
Coming to terms with the fact that things like what had happened actually happen - 2 olives - I mean, it was funny to hear him deny the story in the morning despite the remaining powder on his face but…
Engaging in tri-state area late night eating - 0 olives – If only I had entered the bedroom two seconds earlier, I would have had the opportunity to drunkenly pry my donuts out of his devouring hands
Going back to the bathroom to pee and falling asleep on the toilet – 4 olives - I didn’t think I could top him…but in a sense, I did. It’s only because the sound of the running faucet was so, uh, soothing.
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