It had been an especially long day at the Industrial Machinery and Technology Conference. I had peddled an obscene amount of catalogs and pamphlets regarding of our new industrial sealer called “Excelsior” to a bunch of stodgy purchasing managers for a good twelve hours. Many of them were interested in the new product and its reduced friction coefficient, but with the economic downturn and never ending corporate belt tightening, I was still worried about meeting my annual quota. Alas, the day was over and I’d be returning to home the next morning. I collected my various sales materials and demonstration video and headed back to my “suite” on the fourth floor.
As I entered my tastefully decorated, albeit hypoallergenic room, at the Courtyard Marriott, Tucson I began to turn my attention away from work and to Ryan and Sarah’s upcoming “Wine and Cheese Soiree” on Saturday. I fished through my briefcase to find the cutesy invite that Sarah had assembled out of construction paper and some sort of wine bottle shaped confetti to verify the time.
Apparently, the party was at 7 p.m. and I was supposed to bring “something to share.” Christ, as if not meeting my quota for the year wasn’t enough to worry about, now I had to buy some fancy cheese at Whole Foods for $23.50 per kilogram (because kilograms are key with the socialistic, vegan granolas that work there) to share with her judgmental friends who will measure my worthiness based on the stinky bacteria loaf I present for consumption. Why couldn’t Ryan have married Julie, she was ten times more fun than Sarah and would have never subjected anyone to a “Wine and Cheese Soiree.”
I was distracted thinking about Julie when I reexamined the invite. Upon further review, I began to suspect Sarah had worked hard on all of the invites...except mine. It was clearly an afterthought, the handwriting was a smidge better than illegible and her normally masterful work with a glue gun and glitter seemed rushed. I suspect she wasn’t going to invite me because of the incident at their wedding, but Ryan must have insisted upon my presence.
Truth be told, I can’t really blame her for hating me...finding her much younger sister giving her new husband’s best man a drunken blowjob in the coatroom of Shenanigans Bar and Grille during the reception was probably a good reason to hate someone. Especially when I drunkenly and sarcastically muttered, “your sister is SOOO much better at this than your Aunt Claudia.” Naturally Sarah gasped in horror and my sardonic Cheshire Cat grin began to emerge in the dimly lit coatroom just as she slammed the door.
As I considered not going, I realized that Ryan probably went through hell in order to get me on the guest list. Sarah was known to inflict unreasonable suffering upon Ryan when he wanted something for himself, so I figured I would have to go...even though it would ruin a perfectly good Saturday night.
Feeling distraught about the whole affair, I laid on the bed and begin to ponder what sort of “something to share” should I bring to this potential suckfest. I considered smoked salmon or some prosciutto from my Uncle’s deli. Then I smirked as I thought to myself, “fuck it, bring some Velveeta and Boone’s Farm, maybe the sister will be there.”
Your suggestion is: resulting in a hastily pierced third nipple
Thank You
10 years ago
