Just a funny story

Another funny story to tell – last weekend the Trav came up on Saturday instead of Sunday, just to socialize and get out of his small little one-horse town. So I rounded up a couple of Frisbee folks for a couple of beers and some dancing. Somewhere in the mix, the Wicked Brit started in with the Rakia. (For those of you not in the “know” Rakia is a local liquor made from the skin of grapes, like grappa but really more like jet fuel.) Shortly after that, the Trav made the wise move to go home. If I had been smart, I would have gone with him. I gave him my keys and sent him on his merry way. About an hour later, the rest of us decided to do the same. The Wicked Brit walked me to my building, and headed on to his house a little ways up the hill. I rang my doorbell. I rang my doorbell again. Let me just say that when I say doorbell, I don’t mean a wimpy little “ding-dong”, it’s a full-on screaming buzzer. I sat on the doorbell for a full minute. No response from the Trav. I called him. I called him again. NOTHING. Little shit passed out and wouldn’t let me in!! I called the WB back and made him walk back and get me so I could sleep on his couch. So while I’m freezing in WB’s unheated living room, the Trav is sleeping in my snug little apartment. Bastard. The next morning when I arrived home, not only did I find a sheepish looking Trav in my house, but he had decided that since I wasn’t home by 5 am, that he would just crawl in my flannel-sheeted, cozy bed and sleep there instead of the sofa. Grrrrrrr. I’m not going to let him live that one down for a while.