I’ve got a case of writer’s block, so I thought I’d share a drunken story. This is not my story, but my youngest brother’s. Relax…and enjoy.
We had our last family reunion (on my dad’s side) in July of 2010. My cousin hosts these soirees at his house on Whitmore Lake, just a few miles north of Ann Arbor.
The reunion starts at 10 in the morning and lasts well into the night. At dusk, we start a fire in the fire pit and sit around drinking and roasting marshmallows. Occasionally, we make smores.
This particular evening, my youngest brother had hit the Southern Comfort a little too hard and a bit too fast. It was obvious he was wasted. He was talking much more than he normally would, and he was loud and changing subjects like his mind was channel surfing. I eventually got up to “break the seal.” As I came back outside after I had finished my business, I found my brother in the garage.
He looks at me and says, “Dude, you need to keep your kids away from me.”
“Um, why?” I asked, completely perplexed.
“Because,” he disjointedly explained, “I have the hiccups!”
I had absolutely no idea what in the hell he was talking about and why my kids should be sheltered from his hiccups. I must have been giving him the most bizarre look for him to realize, in his inebriated state, that I had absolutely no freakin’ idea what he meant.
“You know what happens when I get the hiccups, right?” he slurred.
“No. No I don’t.”
“I throw up!” he exclaimed. I have no idea if that’s true or not, and if so that’s one of the oddest drunken quirks I’ve ever heard of.
“Uuhhhh, ok,” I told him, not really sure what else to say. “The kids are inside watching football anyway.”
With that, I walked back out to the fire pit and told the rest of the family what had just happened. After a few minutes I felt like a broken record because I had to repeat the story to each person as they returned from a pontoon ride on the lake.
Not much further into the evening, somebody had looked toward the garage and noticed that my brother was passed out in his chair. In a coordinated effort (that looked like it had been rehearsed and executed before) my cousin, his wife, and another cousin took advantage of the situation. My cousin’s wife grabbed some nail polish and painted his toenails. My cousin took his bobble-boobie doll (yes, it’s exactly what you think. just like a bobble-head doll, except the boobies bobble instead of the head) and placed it in his right hand, which coincidentally was pretty close to his crotch. The other cousin took a marshmallow and balanced it on his (my brother’s) nose and then took a green pepper slice and placed it on his face between his mouth and nose to make it look like my brother had some kind of hispanic mustache. The rest of us watched in amazement as this real-life Picasso came to fruition.
We were able to snap a few pictures before he woke up, and he was still so drunk it didn’t phase him that he was completely surrounded by everyone, and that they were all looking directly at him. The marshmallow and green pepper fell from his face and he didn’t notice. I was laughing so hard I didn’t get to see what he did with the bobble-boobie doll.
After he sobered up a bit later, he complained about the shoddy paint job on his nails, and got a good laugh after having seen pictures of his party fail.
As you can see, the paint job was pretty shoddy, but we had to hurry and get finished before he woke up.
The bobble-boobie doll. Hilarious.
Lesson learned. I will be careful how much I drink around these people. Family indeed.
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