“It’s not like I don’t have a 357 magnum at home,” some fifty year old dumpy woman blurted out from the passenger seat.
Behind her sat her sister, and behind me her twenty something daughter. All three were drunk, particularly the gun toting blob next to me. They were very friendly and very talkative, but homegirl was tore up.
She told me about how her ex husband had left her–several times, and about her two ungrateful children (two other children) getting iPhones for Christmas or something. She told me that story a few times too, so you’d think I’d remember it.
I hate to sound cynical, because I know divorce sucks for all the parties involved, but this bitty was a bit irritating. It can be hard to maintain a conversation with a drunk when you’re not sauced up yourself.
“We had too many sashi bombs,” Ms. Magnum informed me before she launched into an hysterical roar of laughter about her misspoken words.
As we closed in on their destination, the intoxicated woman to my right pointed out which house was hers, “But don’t try and come back here later tonight, I have a 357 magnum, remember.”
I don’t know why this woman was worried that I was coming back later in the night. Maybe she was trying to throw some reverse psychology my way, to lurer me up into her room to have her way with me.
But it didn’t work. That costs extra.
I stopped in front of the “home of the magnum” and her sister hooked me up with a five spot. The trio wobbled up the driveway to try and sleep off the rice wine and hopefully the cougar left the biscuit alone.