Here it is. Winter vacation. A time for friends and families to gather, tell tall tales, imbibe a little (well, maybe a lotâŚ) and just enjoy each otherâs company. And thatâs the way it was, until she showed up. She is my daughter Andrea, back from her first semester at college. I was so hopeful when she swore she would never come backâŚ
Donât get me wrong, I love my little girl, though not so little anymore. She is 5â8â with beautiful legs, 179 pounds with a short bob-style haircut, dyed light-red. Her 36DDâs are quite impressive though I am not a breast man. She has a little tummy on her and her weight is right at the edge of being too much. Overall, a well designed package. When she went off to college she swore that she would never come back, wouldnât leave a phone number or forwarding address, used a list of explicativeâs to describe me that a sailor would be proud of. Of course, when the bills started to hit that werenât covered by her scholarship, that changed quickly. Imagine that.
So. Here I am, having to tolerate her presence as she snubs me at family gatherings and in the company of friends. She was to be here for 10 days and the idea of a hunting trip to Alaska was looking better all the time. Her third day back changed my outlook on my daughter tremendously due to an open social schedule and a fresh bottle of bourbon. At about 9 PM she had gotten ready for bed already, wearing a loose, short shirt that exposed her ample midrift and a pair of thin, skin-tight sweat pants that clung to her long, luscious legs showing their exquisite detail. The last of her siblings had been shipped off to bed and my wife was on the computer chatting with some friends. When that happens, she will be on the box all night.
Andrea asked, in a semi-pleasant tone, if she could have a drink. I told her I would like to join her and she managed to suppress her distaste. I poured two stiff bourbon and cokes, hoping the amber fluid would tire Andrea. I served her and returned to the kitchen to clean a small mess I had made with ice. When I got back to her, she asked for another! She had already finished the first. OK. I poured her a second one, then a third and fourth. She rapidly consumed the first five and I was in awe that she was still coherent. She then made herself a bologna sandwich, which I warned her against. With her usual disdain for me, she made and promptly consumed her meal. Over the next drink, my second her sixth, we started to chat in an amicable fashion, more like the old days when she was âMy Kitten.â
The alcohol finally caught up with Andrea. As she started her seventh drink, she set it down, looked at me and said, âI am going to be sick,â with a lovely smile. Then she did. She got sick right there on the arm of the couch and the floor! I managed to get to her and pull her head back from the frontal fall she had started before she continued emptying her stomach in her lap and on my arm. This was a mess. As her stomach settled, I set her upright on the couch as she began laughing uproariously. I told her to stay put while I cleaned up the mess, including her. I told her to peel out of her soiled sweats and she laughingly complied, almost taking her white, satin thong with her!