FIREWORKS

ME:  (waking)  Ooh, Grammy, what am I doing here?  What time is it?

GRAMMY:  Three in the afternoon.

ME:  Oh, God.

GRAMMY:  That’s what happens when you drink all night.  Alfie dropped you off.  Seems you never told him where you actually live.

ME:  I ‘m sorry, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Not as sorry as I am.  Julius slept in my bed, you took the couch, I’ve been up all damn night watching that Ryan Seacrest fella, who’ll never be a Dick Clark, I can tell you that, and that boyfriend of yours has been setting off fireworks ever since.

 ME: Fireworks?

GRAMMY:  Can’t you hear them?  I’m surprised nobody’s called the cops yet.  Must have been one hell of a night.

ME:  I don’t know.  I can’t remember anything.

GRAMMY:  Well now, that’s just sad.  Might have had the time of your life, and you don’t even remember it.

ME:  Well, it could have been awful, too.

GRAMMY:  Right.  He’s shooting of fireworks because the night sucked.  You know, Barbara, you really shouldn’t drink.  It makes you dumber than normal.

ME:  Grammy!  That isn’t very nice.

GRAMMY:  Oh well.  Have a shot of whisky and you’ll forget I ever said it.

Photo: Big Huge Labs