TexanAvenger

I was talking to my friend the other day, and she reminded me of driving her home from a party where she had too much to drink. For no other reason than boredom, I've decided to share the story with y'all.

First of all, this girl has the alcohol tolerance of your average sponge. I'm talking about such sensitivity to the stuff that I believe she gets drunk about five minutes before the bottle touches her lips. But she loves the stuff nonetheless. And it doesn't help that she's gorgeous... at any given party she's surrounded by a group of jackasses who're only happy to hand over another beer in hopes of scoring with her, or at least catching a flash of skin.

So, about 45 minutes into this party, while I'm flirting with a girl I've been interested in, I notice her through the doorway into another room, looking for all practical purposes like she's about to remove her shirt. I grudgingly apologize and push my way over to her in time to hear her say, "...ay. But I don't know what's so great about them, they're just boobs." I stop her and pull her to the side, telling her that I'm taking her home and she better not argue with me because for all I knew I just blew my chances with a great and beautiful girl and wasn't really in the mood to deal with a stubborn drunk. Surprisingly enough, she headed out to the car in a fairly happy mood, adlibing an off pitch song about how I blew my chances with the previously mentioned girl o' my dreams. This song continued for a couple of minutes before being mysteriously replaced by "If I only had a brain..." (Somewhere on TFP there's a thread about nicknames. Because of this diddy she started to sing, I gained the nickname "Oz.")

About 20 miles down the road, lights come on behind me and my stomach simultaneously leaped into my skull and down to my feet, which were slowing the car. The officer walks up to the window and I'm trying to figure out what the hell I did... He proceeds to tell me, as slowly as if he were getting paid by the minute, that the tail-light was out and I really should get that fixed. Then he looks over and notices my friend who has, for whatever reason, picked this time to start examining her breasts with great intensity by pulling out the collar and staring down her own shirt. The officer, of course, deduces, between the behaviour and smell of cheap beer, that she is drunk. Before I can explain that I'm trying to be responsible and watch out for my friend so that she doesn't hurt herself, she blurts out, in all seriousness, "No occifer! I'm not as think as you drunk I am...."

After a moment of akward silence, she returns to examining her own anatomy and the officer asks me to step out of the car. After closing the door, he asks to check my breath. After I come up clean, I explain to him what's going on, he tells me that's "A mighty fine thing for you to do for your girlfriend there," (I don't bother correcting him because I want to be as agreeable as possible) and he sends me on my way. So I start pulling away and about 30 seconds later the lights come on again. I pull over again and he comes up to the window again. "And make sure to get that light fixed. It's not really safe to be driving around without all of 'em on."

At this point, my friend decides to chime in again. "Don't worry occifer!" (Yes, she said it again...) "My friend here is the best, most safe driver around. He didn't have a drop to drink or nothin'. But I had enough to drink for the both of us!" The officer shook his head, laughing. "Get'ir home before she confesses to murder... I don't think I can let that one go."