Each year a local ski resort hosts Oktoberfest activities. This year, Irish Girl and I decided to attend. After doing so, we headed straight to the ski resort bar and reminisced about our younger years.
“All I ever dated were skaters, snowboarders and skiers. They were a lot of fun but, one day, I decided I wanted a little more out of life,” I told Irish Girl. “Like a sweatshirt with a sequined tiger on it and a Russian looking hat,” Irish Girl quipped, referring to my attire for the day. “Exactly,” I replied.
We joined up with some of her friends and the reminiscing continued. “I grew up in a small town in Massachusetts where we would hold the Drunk Driving Olympics,” said one of the friends whose accent grew thicker with each drink. “We once held the Hampton Olympics, not to be confused with the Hampton Limp Dicks,” I told him. “We could probably do the Drunk Driving Limp Dicks too,” he said, then digressed. “I love Snapchat. I’m constantly posting dick pics.” “Doesn’t that make you nervous?” I asked. “No, they’re soft shots and only up for nine seconds,” he said. “I’m surprised they’re up for even nine seconds if they’re flaccid,” I replied. “Do you do Snapchat?” he asked. “No. I prefer Snatchchat. Where, like us women, the shots last for hours not seconds,” was my jackass reply.
He continued on with his stories and provided a little advice, “If a stripper buys you a drink it probably has a roofie in it. You should make note of that.” “Good advice. So if that happens, what should I do with the drink?” I asked. “Drink it,” he replied.
“Noted,” I said, put my Russian hat on and left….the past behind me.