Dirt and Kiki have a little tradition. Whenever their friends or relatives from back East come for a visit, everyone comes over to my house to eat $150 worth of crab. It's my fault, I realize. I like to entertain. I like crab boils. This equals trouble.
Kiki was wasted. My god, what an obnoxious drunk. Eventually we all stopped trying to make conversation, lest she interject something puerile. Someone whose sense of humor is that of a 14 year old ordinarily, Kiki plummeted to an 8 year old. An 8 year old boy. Volvos were "vulvas." A guest snacking on peanuts was repeatedly described as liking "to eat penises." When a guest asked me for a grocery sack for various odds and ends, Kiki snorted "you can just stuff them in my box!"
And so on. She would repeat each such witticism at least two more times, nudging us to get her "good one." I don't know that I've ever felt more sorry for another human being as I did for Dirt right then.
Mortified, I eventually tuned out. I stared into space and thought about how many opportunities I'd had for Kiki and Dirt to meet my own visiting friends, yet I had always opted not to. Good call, I thought as I stared forlornly into space. Fucking great call.
"JOHN'STH NOT EVEN LISTHENING TO ME RIGHT NOW!" Kiki correctly observed. "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT, JOHN?"
"Oh, nothing really. I was just missing my real friends."