There is something magical about being this drunk in the middle of winter. It is freezing cold by the side of the road, but I feel giddy and warm.
I have a nagging feeling that something is missing, and that maybe I’ve left something in the car. Where is the car anyway? Didn’t they say they would come back for me soon? I walk a few feet to get my blood flowing again. I giggle hysterically when I almost trip, because my stiletto heel hooks between my toes and gets stuck in my pantyhose. I rip a ladder in the silk material while trying to balance on one foot. Then I plunge backwards onto the asphalt. Luckily my coat is thick enough to break the fall.
Sitting in silence for a moment, I look up at the morning sky hanging over the quiet forest road. Some careful rays of sunlight are playing with the ice hanging from the branches of a moosewood tree. The sensation of the clear, crisp air in my lungs brings tears to my eyes. It is beautiful out here.
I wonder where I am.
Then I see the woman striding toward me. Wait . . . that's no woman, that's my wife. I try to rise but my head spins, and I simply cannot run in these stilettos. I'm giggling hysterically again, for no good reason.
All at once I remember where the car is, and what happened to it. And another realization hits me--just before the seven iron--she may forgive my dalliances, but she does not like me wearing her clothes.
Opening: Nicolette.....Continuation: jrmosher