Tales From The Drunk Side

Due to all the turf condition stance claiming making her an independent spirit, Mrs. Katz stayed occupied inside the same secret place, as in the past, performing miles of smiles, despite being out of the money. Suddenly a long-time faithful companion Miss MM decided to show affection with a well-wisher's delivery, winning white lilacs.

“Some noble fish took a second, tried baiting me with this nice gesture,” Mrs. Katz thought, and the longshot gesture, based on immense faith, turned the married committed homemaker’s attitude around, sending her mindset down a positive path.

“That is right, I am back on the fast track, and this awesome entry, will pull me out of the money and its flowerily beauty will bring happiness,” Mrs. Katz reminded herself, showing no restraint, retreating behind the bar, discovering mo rum.

Pouring the shots Mrs. Katz, pondered all the claiming, defending her turf, “I loved him because he was The Furminator and within a second, foxes warmed my wintry bones, but when Theodora Grace showed, that is when,”

Placing the small glass down, Mrs. Katz heard an intruding sound, “I must think of a winning bedtime story to tell my beloved bold baby returning from anywhere, explaining why I am out of the money.”

Then a thought came to Mrs. Katz, if her memory was correct Rockingham Joe was out of the money despite his winning jungle glow. A dark tan that would swoon anyone to join him on an Amazon adventurous rendezvous.

“He always showed that New York strong attitude,” Mrs. Katz remembered, “claiming a mystical turbulent force kept him in his place.”

Continuing her reflection, recounting the fast track, the memory of going to a Hipatia lecture show to learn about cosmic economics heavenly abilities rekindled her Rockingham Joe fetish.

“Then of course, the Spanish girl put him out of the money, and he started claiming,” laughing Mrs. Katz gave the miniature tumbler, a little squeeze, before taking an honor gulp.

“Rockingham Joe, a tiger forever winner, "recited the raised drink.

“Rockingham who?” A figure appeared.

“Oh, so it was not my lifelong partner,” Mrs. Katz announced, “instead winner Allison Park.”

“That I am,” Allison shrieked taking a second to flaunt a golden ring.

“Where did you get that?” Mrs. Katz inquired.

“Well,” Allison started, “after getting an allowance and the claiming option, I made a single reservation on a paddle boat ride in one of those coracle contraptions and it showed me a fantasy trip where I controlled my turf.”

“Really,” Mrs. Katz took a sip from an empty glass.

“Look, I heard you were out of the money, defending turf, and brought this one fine wine,” Allison proclaimed.

Wanting to show some comfort the visiting guest started spinning a Queen’s fable, “such a pretty picture?” She interrupted herself, “back when you were a maiden special weight winner, I suppose,”

“Yeah, defending my turf,” Mrs. Katz agreed, “that’s Mildred Pierce at her place.”

“We used to call her Lady Meiss,” Allison recounted, “she would cut down everyone like a psycho woodsman passing through an enchanted forest.”

Silenced commenced and the two went outside and enjoyed the winning neon sunset, “Being a maiden with special weight and on a fast track was fun,”

“Honey,” Allison shared from the bottle, “friendly conversation goes better with vino and it shows.”

“Yes, the true critical magic inhabiting my pleasure place,” Mrs. Katz agreed slurring a toast, “here’s to Gwendolyn.”

“Whose Gwendolyn?”

“Gwen to win was out of the money, during our high school days.”

“Yes, lady misery, and it showed, Mysaria we nicknamed her,” Allison confessed, “did a lot of complaining on the where’s the party fast track.”

“Despite being out of the money, she did have that kitty pretty albino look,”

“A captured darling who was a winner and,” Allison paused, staring at the nearly worthless container, “wait a second last glory.”

“It’s yours,” Mrs. Katz surrendered hearing another disturbance, “we are drunk on the deck.”

Only a few seconds ticked from the clock, and an invisible powerful sensation entered cuing Mrs. Katz to announce, “there is microwavable leftovers in the refrigerator.”

“Just push a few buttons to nuke them,” Allison added before a nocturnal sleep overtook their bodies, not saying a word or issuing any explanation. Only hoping they enjoyed their night cap tales that in the end wished them sweet dreams.