A Jolly Old Chap

I was accused yesterday by a family member of being “too happy” these days. I was like, “What the fuck?” How can you be too happy? They were worried my anti-depressant was causing a manic high as I have a continuous smile on my face these days. I have never been accused of being bi-polar or manic depressive before. I have pretty much been a morose depressed little son of a bitch for years. Can’t I bask in the glory of the limelight of happiness for once? I dismissed their concerns without much of a second thought. Not even Satan himself could steal my thunder these days if I believed in such clap trap.

George came over to hang out and drink wine last night. His usual Saturday night poker game at Pookie’s house had been cancelled. Saturday nights are when I religiously watch my British comedies on Public Television. I am autistic-like in my routines and regimens; kind of like Dustin Hoffman’s caricature of Raymond in the movie Rainman. Raymond religiously had to watch People’s Court. I am the same way with my British comedies on Saturday nights.

George had bought a plastic bag filled with four bottles of Wild Irish Rose wine.

“Surely, you are not going to drink all of those tonight?” I asked.

“Watch me,” George said defiantly with a facetious grin on his face.

At first, George didn’t find my British comedies amusing or funny, but by the third bottle of wine, he was laughing hysterically. George’s antics were contagious and we both got to laughing so hard our sides began to hurt.

The only downside to the evening was that George hates to drink alone and kept offering me his bottle of wine. It was tempting, but I have taken a solemn vow not to drink these days. I came to the realization that drinking is so depressing and a major component of my depressive moods over the years. It was amusing to watch George imbibe in the spirits though.

George finally got so drunk he passed out in my lazy boy recliner. I turned off the TV and lights and went to bed. I awoke again around 4 a.m. in the morning to use the bathroom and George was gone. He had slipped quietly out into the night and headed home. I am sure he will have a vicious hangover this morning. Bless his little drunken soul.