Bar Therapy: Session 4 – Drunk Mommy

Intoxicated people say and do funny things. As I considered whether I should serve a lady threesome more Tito’s, I noticed one eyeing me up. This is my #MeToo moment. (Not hardly, but bear with me.) She reached across the bar for my hand. I noticed her sparkling ring finger and assumed she wanted to shake hands.

(Note: People, there are certain occasions when it is perfectly OK to shake hands with a bartender. Excluded from all of those occasions are ones when the person is tending bar. At best, fist tap. Better yet, princess wave.)

I extended my tequila, salt, and beer coated paw. She kissed my knuckles. I blushed like a teenager. (Or, that may have been gas.)

“Aw, how sweet are you? The gentleman is supposed to kiss your hand.”

“No, this is how we do it.”

She extended her hand and did it again. This time, she lingered a bit. I fully expected her to lick my knuckle or suckle a digit. Not much surprises me these days.

Her daughter was sitting next to her, quite unimpressed.

“Mom, Jesus Christ! I’m sorry, sir. Can you get her an ice water?”

“Certainly.”

I went about my business of dispensing brain-tickling elixir. My lady co-workers drew pleasure from my discomfort. The gave me the smirk that says, “See?” as drunk Mommy flagged me down again.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“Can you turn around?”

“Um, sure.”

“It looks like you have a nice butt, but it’s hiding. Lift your shirt up.”

“I’m not going to lift my shirt up.”

“Oh, please.”

“No.”

“Come on. You have a baseball butt, don’t you?”

“I play baseball. I have a butt. So, I suppose.”

“Lift your shirt.”

“You first.”

Her daughter reacted poorly, signaling that Mom might actually take the dare. It caused enough of a pause that I could leave to serve the imaginary customer at the opposite end of the bar. I did my best to avoid drunk Mommy until her daughter dragged her away.

Let me be clear about this: In NO way did I feel violated. In fact, if she were single and sans cock-blocking-daughter I would have played along. To me, it’s funny, not creepy. Now, if roles are reversed it’s not funny. I’d need to be concerned about creepy Daddy waiting for me in the parking lot. I’m confident I could fight off the sexual advances of a drunk woman (though, gently and reluctantly).

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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