
Last night, Shelly, Bruce, Steve, and I went to Ski Fever (ski expo) to shop and get free lift tickets and swag. No significant purchases but got us excited for the season. Almost got Bruce into some skis but he does have a Mexico trip coming up and green fees every weekend (fucking golfers.)
Then we went next door to Jimmie's to get drunk. Had meat and fried vegetables and a few shots of Patron (butterfingers Bruce dropped his Cabo Wabo on the first try but shook it off and completed the next two.) At this point Shelly starts talking shit. She insists that if the situation called for it, she could kick my ass.
She is wiley she says. This wiley factor apparently figures large in her mind. Forget that I'm taller, heavier, wider, have an above average tolerance to pain and I'm prone to fits of destructive rage. You'd think that she would just let me have this one.
She's younger, prettier, smarter, etc, etc, etc....
Let me have this one. This small something. At least admit that I could hypothetically kick your ass.... which I could by the way.
Seriously.