Dolly, Dolly…

My Fellow Inebriates,

I actually overheard the following as one of my parents left: “I’m just getting groceries, nothing else. If that batshit crazy bear wants anything, it’s out of luck.”


Well, of course I wanted things. I had a list. It’s pouring rain outside, and I had a really cozy idea: Kahlua and butterscotch schnapps stirred into hot milk. Yum, right?

Okay, so I’d personally leave out the milk, but the concoction as described above is a good idea.  It’s so warming and romantic, so good for curling up by the fire.

Admittedly it’s something I dreamt up to lure my girlfriend back to me.

You’re probably remembering I told you about Dolly, and that she doesn’t like being called my girlfriend. She’s all human, she insists, and has decided to curb whatever fetishistic desires led to these pictures:

But I can’t help wondering, couldn’t a tummyful of coffee/butterscotch liqueurs couple nicely with a brainful of alcohol to effect a reconciliation? How many drinks would it take for her to stop calling me “mangy,” “infantile,” and “paranoid”? …

I just asked her and she said ten. But how can I get my parents to do my liquor shopping?

What's your poison? Drop me a line.

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