04 October 2011

Butterflies, Canadians and Puppas

This is not my absurdity. Not really, although I may have contributed in some way to the course of events... I did not actually roofie M, no matter what she says.

It is against the law to serve liquor to an intoxicated person. So probably M was just very tired when she decided to curl herself up inside of her sweatshirt and take a nap in my van until closing time. I am reasonably sure that I told her to turn the heat on if she got cold. She did not. She made herself a cocoon of sweatshirt.

After closing the bar and doing most of what I was supposed to do at the end of the night, T and I walked toward the van. He commented that M had build herself a cocoon and said goodnight to us. And then he abruptly abandoned me with M. Asshole.

"Ha!" M slurs at me. "A cocoon." She laughs. "Cocoons are fucking creepy." 

I snicker.

"No, really. Everyone is all 'ohh, look at the pretty butterfly. Everyone loves butterflies. I do not love butterflies. I think they are creepy. I think the fact that they go in a worm and come out a butterfly is disturbing." I am giggling now. M is not. M is serious.

"In fact, right after I lay a cuppa out of my ass, or where ever it comes from, I am going to tell everyone about this butterfly thing."

I snort. I can't help it. I have no idea what  a cuppa is or how it found itself in M's ass.

"A cuppa? In your ass?"

"Right, Krissy. As soon as I get Cuba out of my ass..." M giggles. "Cuba."

My stomach is aching from laughing at, with her. "Cuba."

M stares at me like I have lost my damn mind. "Uh. Krissy. They are called PUPAS, not cuppas and certainly not Cubas." Which only makes me laugh harder because her tone implies that I am a drooling idiot.

"In any case, I do not know about these butterflies. I mean, really, it's fucking creepy. It would be like if we went into a cocoon and then came out a dog."

I am struggling to imagine the comparison here. "A dog? Cuba?" I ask her, because I really love screwing with drunk people. 

"Right! And what about those Canadians? Huh? What's up with them?" 

And right there... she lost me.

"Canadians M?" 

"Yeah, sitting up there, in caves I think, going out of their way to make my life more difficult."

"I see." I say, because I have nothing to pull out of my ass on this one.

"They keep telling me to 'shh'. But I am not ready to 'shh'." I had no idea M was delusional.

"You know, H hates Canadians also. He got kicked out of Canada for like ten years or something."

"Whoa!" M is all mad at Canada now. " Kicked out of Canada! Who the hell cares, I mean really. It would suck to be kicked out of, like, Italy. Or even Ireland. But Canada? Who the hell even wants to go there. It's cold and snowy and shitty, and you can't come in. Well hell. Big deal. Who the hell wants to go to Canada anyway."

I am almost afraid to tell her that my grandma was Canadian. Instead, I ask her if they have butterflies in Canada. It seems to be a safer course of conversation. 

"Agh. Butterflies. Have I mentioned that I really hate butterflies? Ohh. Do you still have pizza? Can I have some pizza? I will be all quiet and shit."

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