The Cat's Away

As Flick left for vacation yesterday, I, Gribble, will be filling in for him.

Any of you familiar with Flick's previous vacation rampages know that he started on a manic trajectory about a week before, ensuring that his 3-hour mininvan trip to NJ would beat him about his hung-over head with the wailing of children, the driving anxiety of Mrs. Flick, and the occassional death blow from Chloe the imaginary bastard child.

Friday afternoon, I lured Flick to my work happy hour. Two of my coworkers are attractive mid-20's women, and they brought with them a newly engaged friend. Since Flick works mainly with ear mite infested trolls and such, he jumped at the chance to engage in conversation with women who smile, drink, and listen to stories about people who defecate on churches. Occassionally Flick is able to endear himself with his charm and wit, and the happy hour started out with much enthusiasm and the healthy flow of conversation, laughs, and Octoberfest. Unfortunately, the man has a weird sort of social anxiety that causes him to occassionally blurt out the most uncomfortably disturbing thing that occurs to him (and there's plenty.)

(Sidebar--Halloween night Flick dressed up as an inflatable obese fitness trainer. Worried that his slightly overweight neighbor would be offended, he tried to avoid the guy for most of the night. Finally, when he and the neighbor finally met, the neighbor asked what was with the costume. Instead of just spitting out "fat personal trainer" and hoping for a laugh, Flick's mouth somehow formed words indicating that he was the guy's cousin.)

Ok, back to happy hour. Flick had settled into a sort of semi-confrontational but fun mingling with coworker A, and managed to get her at least one heifiweizen past her stated limit. When she begged off, explaining that her dog had obedience classes to attend, Flick went into a mumbling meandering sales pitch to try to get her to stay longer or come back afterward. At least, that's what I thought he was trying to do. Somewhere in the course of the pitch he mentioned that this was his "last chance" before he, his wife, and three kids left for vacation. I can't recall all of the details, but I believe the young lady may have said something like "quick, look at that diversion!" and headed for the door. The engaged girl commented "nice approach--very original!" Her friend laughed, and Flick stood there perplexed. "Wha...Huh...Wha'd I say?"

"UH, you just asked the girl out in the same breath as you introduced your wife and kids. Most dirty old men wait a month or two before spilling their guts!"

Always one to make a small mess into a major environmental disaster, Flick immediately went into the backpedaling, guilt-ridden, hand-wringing, over-analyzing tornado that we all like to watch on our Weather Channel of Human Torment highlight films. Flick was so flustered at what he had done, that he walked into his house still redfaced enough for his wife to ask what was up. "Nothing, honey. I just asked Gribble's 25 year-old hot friend out for drinks tonight."

Have a nice vacation, pal.