Too Late to Apologize


Jacque and I went out for a couple of drinks Saturday night.

We were perfectly content, sipping our drinks at our table when suddenly I was drenched. I realized someone had spilled their beer on me.

"Oh man. I'm sorry."

"Oh my gawd! You are so drunk! You totally spilled your beer on that girl!"

And then this giant douche takes the napkins on the table and pushes more beer off the table on onto me. It wasn't just a little bit. It was on my shirt, jeans and, as I discovered later, my bag.

The dude went on his merry drunken way and for the next two hours, we were pushing drinks around the table, trying to ensure they did not meet his giant elbow.

"How does this always happen to me?" I asked Jacque. "I don't even drink beer and somehow I'm the one who always ends up going home smelling like beer. And aren't you supposed to buy a person a drink after you douse them in booze?"

"I think he thought about it," she answered. "But he looked and saw you had a mixed drink."

Later in the night, he returned to our table and I gripped my drink tightly. "Hey! I spilled a beer earlier with my elbow!"

You know, as if I couldn't remember why my whole left side was wet.

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