Drunk on the Roof

A Story. Okay. I can do this. How about a funny one?

Before I started seeing Beloved I dated a girl who lived in a little bitty town on the state line. I used to drive up to see her all the time. Um, I’ll call her Brain, because she was really book smart. Brain lived in this little bitty town, as I said, in a house that was all hers, because her mom had moved to her grandmother’s house, a few miles away. It was a beautiful house. It was a three story Victorian looking thing with gables and wrap around porches and servants entrances and all that. She had grown up in a room that was the attic before they moved in, and it had two gable windows.

At these gable windows, you could walk out on to a ledge and get on to the roof. Brain and I loved to sit on the roof and look at the stars, which you could see really well, because we were in the country.

Brain and I also liked to indulge in cigars and Scotch. I did not know I liked Scotch until I met Brain, but I do. One of the few things I learned from her.

One night Brain and I got the brilliant idea to crawl out on to the roof with a couple bottles of scotch and some cigars and chill out. Well, we drank until we couldn’t crawl back down into the house, and so we fell asleep on the roof.

We had forgot her mom was coming over for breakfast the next morning. Her poor mother pulls in the driveway and sees us, sprawled out on the roof spread eagle style, Scotch bottles in hand, stubs of cigars surrounding us. She promptly, and justifiably, freaks out. I am sure we looked like victims of some odd ritual killing. She woke us up with her screams, nearly causing us to tumble from the roof.

We managed to stumble inside, hung over as all hell (tip: do not drink scotch strait from the bottle with no chasers) and got the lecture of a lifetime.

Lesson: Drink inside the house, smoke inside the house, and don’t get caught by your prospective MIL.