Surprise surprise, I met a really cool, pretty, smart and independent woman… Just one minor problem. We dont speak the same language. I dont mean this in a metaphorical sense. I mean, my French and Arabic is about as good as her English… Which leaves us with charades and simple sentences.
Oh, but this story is not about me today…. No no, it is about my friend and how i inadvertently ruined his dress shirt and his evening…But let me back up.
Although my mono-syllabic lady friend and i have only been seeing each other a week, timing would have it that her birthday would land in the same week. Not wanting to show up to the girls party empty handed, I called a friend of mine who would be able to enjoy the entourage of females that accompany any Monday night birthday party. Within minuets of our arrival i know i did the right thing. My buddy sits down next to the party girl in the crew and they seem to hit it off due to the smile on his face. Now, things could not be better…We are drinking, dancing, taking pictures…. I like her friends they like my friend. We are one happy group of balloon baring birthday buddies.
Now it is Monday, so my guard is down as i’m not expecting a crazy evening. But the party girl talking to my friend had a different agenda… After slamming back 3 shots she gets that auto-pilot look in her eye. Watching her dance with my buddy i can see that her reliance on his stable moves is growing. But he is grinning ear to ear with a nice set of boobies bouncing against him like a Greek check book.
Sitting their with my birthday girl and google translate on hand, my date whispers some interesting news to me. “She is depression, I mean, she is depressed”
She looks pretty happy to me though. Until she comes over and suggests we go to another location. When i look to the birthday girl for approval, i realize this is not a suggestion. We are definitely going to the next spot as her eyes flare with conviction and another shot hits the table, she shouts “Bedi Musiza Arabi“. I decide to shut the fuck up and just go with it.
Now, she can barely walk but this creates greater dependence on my friend. Which means more bobbies bouncing and a bigger grin on his face. So i am not gonna be the wet blanket. I’ll leave that to the bouncer at the next club who informs us she better pull her shit together as she snaps back with grumbling, “Bediii Ahawwwiii…”
I think in a shouting tone in my head, “where the fuck is Starbucks???”
If that is not bad enough it is proceeded by a virtual free fall off the stiletto heels to the tune of Nancy Ajram busting out of the cigar filled Concerto. Now the whole peanut gallery is looking at us trying to control the drunken corpse and we try and lift her and the massive Babylons into the car while a kid tries to get some change for tossing a plastic rose at her. But finally we are in the car. She is in the back clutching to my friend like a not so classy princess Guinever with her hero Lancalot.
As we are driving off, i continue with the shutting the fuck up and think to myself, “fuck… it’s only Monday”
But as the whole experience subsides and we near the drop off point i give a supportive look to my buddy in the the back seat for a job well done. Being a good sport he gives me a nod of approval and still sporting his optimistic smile. I turn back hold hands with my new Arabic tutor as we drive to the tunes of some other Arabic singer with fake contacts and pouting lips. It seems everything is gonna be ok.
But then the groan comes out again, “Bedi Naaamiii…” But this time it was interrupted by a choke-cough…Well a kind of wet cough. Whipping my head around i see his smile transform to a face of shear terror and panic. She had her arm around his neck for support in what looked loving before. But now it is kind of like a head lock as she blows chunks and grips him tighter with each convulsing spew.
We quickly pull over and I run around back to get the Exorcist chic off my friend and lay her on the ground to desecrating the earth. He is standing there with, what looks like fajitas and Jägermeister with a dress shirt pocket full of both. As i swollow my sympathy vomit, i think it looks like a zip-lock bag of soup.
Now the smile is gone, she is on the floor in a puddle of the fajita-Jåger mix and a Army guy on the corner runs over and asks what the hell is happening…..And all i can think is
“Fuck, it’s only Monday…”