Last weekend, I was at a party with some people I hadn't seen in a while. As we brought each other up to date on the varied comedies of errors that are our individual lives, I finally got to tell them about having been trapped in an elevator at the start of July, with a man who breeds fighting roosters for a living and even has a weekly TV show that is a big hit among his fellow sabongeros all over the country.For the record, I consider myself pretty socially adept, and I probably would have said the same thing, were I her.
One chicken story led to another--because, believe it or not, everyone has at least one--until someone raised his glass in a toast and said, "F*** chickens!"
It was funny rather than offensive; and everyone's laughter and clinking glasses were--now that I've thought about it--signs that the group felt done with the subject of chickens and wanted to move on.
But I'm a woefully literal lit nerd who was once a Lit major as well, and the word association just got the better of my booze addled mind. So I said: ...
Evening Note for Monday, April 24
1 hour ago