but have to act like I am anyway.
THE COMPROMISE?
Woo-hoo. Oh, yeah. Get this.
Mom invited Nikki to roast
her turducken at our house.
Mom’s doing side dishes, pies,
and a prime rib (just in case!).
Best of all, with the probable
exception of Nikki’s dad’s girlfriend,
the entire extended family plans
to come. No wonder I feel married.
Which explains why, fifteen hours
until total insanity, I’m well on
my way to a major buzz, here at
my buddy Jason’s. We’re talking
Jäger, Heineken, and some fat
blunts. It’s one hell of a party.
Nikki’s at work, so I’m basically
on my own, surrounded by stoners
smoking weed. And, in a big bowl
on the coffee table, are assorted meds,
confiscated from who-knows-where.
It’s a regular designer potpourri of sleep
inducers, mood enhancers, pain reducers,
and, for all I know, laxatives. Everyone
is welcome to play the pharm game. Only
one rule applies: You have to take three.
I TRIED TO RESIST
Really I did. For one thing,
I’m supposed to pull a morning