I think it was the Four Seasons who sang the classic ‘Oh, What a Night’. The chorus went something like this…“oh, what a lady, what a night’. I think I know what they meant.
I think it was the Four Seasons who sang the classic ‘Oh, What a Night’. The chorus went something like this…"oh, what a lady, what a night’. I think I know what they meant.
Have you ever looked up to the heavens and thanked the Heavenly Father for giving man the wisdom to invent short skirts? I have.
For those who didn’t know or weren’t invited (I’m sorry…but not very), I had a birthday party at my place.
Yes, the oldest bachelor south of the Sahara and blah, blah (you know the rest of the refrain) is a year older.
I’ve got to admit that I had a bit of trepidation as the day approached; you see, as you grow older you’re supposed to do great things.
Well, I’m getting older every day and greatness hasn’t tapped my shoulder yet in greeting. But guess what you aging people?
It’s not all that bad; in fact, if you have a ‘ballistic’ enough birthday it will give you a feel good feeling all year. But remember, it can only be like that if you have something special happening.
And that’s where the short skirt comes in. Oh, and I’m talking to the guys here.
The guests had only one prerequisite before the gate was opened; they had to have a bottle of liquor. As you’ve probably figured out by now, the guys have a certain affinity for Mutzig, and whenever we have party, crates of the stuff will be consumed like its going out of fashion.
But I wanted something different this time; I wanted to see the guy’s tolerance for something other than beer. I didn’t have to kick out anyone (other than one guy who thought I didn’t have the balls to throw him out because he didn’t bring a bottle; but all’s well that ends well, the guy bought a small bottle of Uganda Waragi)…the guys played their parts.
But as I should have figured out…the fellows bought the cheapest liquor on the market! The drinks table looked like it would feel right at home in Jinja, Uganda.
The Spirit of Uganda was the drink of choice and the only difference from one fellows drink to the next was whether he/she mixed it with juice, Coke, Sprite or Fanta. So, the drinks were in plenty...GOOD.
Now, the only thing that kept the party from truly starting was the lack of female company. We guys are used to hanging by ourselves, getting drunk and THEN looking for females in the various nightspots; so, its not as if we had natural female members of the Ugly Munkiz.
However, we certainly had a few affiliates and they showed up.
Have you looked at a girl and thought "she’s all right”…and then, later on, seen her in a tiny dress and thought "Lord have mercy”? Well, I had that moment when the girls came in. They had apparently left a wedding and they were dressed to the nines.
Now, we could party. Drinks were plentiful….ladies, ditto. The best part of being stone cold sober (as I’ve become), is that you actually enjoy yourself and remember everything that happens.
It’s not a luxury that anyone else in the party has, because, as they finally left, kicking and screaming, at four in the morning, they were as drunk as sailors. Some tales I cannot reveal, but let’s say that some behaviour was R-rated… ahem, ahem.
I can’t wait to turn a year older once again…I bet it will be wilder still.