Something Fruity?

Ann: Last night Joe and I finally went to that new restaurant with the tropical themed bar.

Pam: How was it?

Ann: It was pretty nice. We had to wait a few minutes for our table so we sat at the bar. I got one of their specialty fruit drinks with the paper umbrella and everything and Joe had a bottle of dark beer.

Pam: Gender typical.

Ann: Funny you should say that. When our table was ready we had to wind our way through the crowd so Joe carried my huge sissy drink for me and I carried his easier to manage long neck. I tell you, we got some funny looks and one guy even said, “What’s wrong with that picture?” Joe’s such a good sport.

Pam: That reminds me of something that happened way back, when my buddy Henry and I took that Harley road trip to the bike rally in Sturgis. The closer we got to Sturgis, the thicker the bikes on the road, and the more congested the normally sleepy little towns became.

Ann: I still can’t believe you did that!

Pam: Me neither – oh for those younger days. Anyway, we stopped in a little hole in the wall bar about two hundred miles out. It was packed with dozens of men in black leather and chains. I wasn’t thrilled but we both needed to clear the road dust from our throats so I grabbed the only available table while Henry went to the bar. He knows I love strawberry daiquiris and berry wine coolers, so when he pushed his way through the crowd of these very imposing guys, he went up to the bartender, and in a booming clear voice asked, “Ya got anything fruity?”

Ann: Oh my gosh! What was he thinking?

Pam: He wasn’t! You could have heard a pin drop. It was like we were suddenly in the middle of an E.F. Hutton commercial. I thought all those tough guys were going to beat him to a pulp. But then he explained it was for “the lady” and gestured my way.

Ann: Oh great, so now you’re the center of attention! What a guy! Did you at least get the strawberry daiquiri?

Pam: Not a chance – this was a biker bar, remember? After a bit of searching, the bartender could only come up with an old, dusty bottle of Zima which had a “serve by” date from, I kid you not, the last century.

Ann: Aged like a fine wine. I bet it was expensive. So how was it?

Pam: I didn’t drink it. I had a soft drink instead. But I didn’t care. I was just glad to get out of there with my driver in one piece!