Birthday Beatings
It’s been a while since I got punched in the face at a birthday party.
I think.
I’m actually not sure it ever happened before, but I’ve woken up after parties often enough feeling like someone had punched me in the face, so I can’t entirely rule it out.
Anyway, let me tell you how that happened and we should probably start at the beginning.
I walked into Valmoor expecting nothing more as a good night ahead, which is all I need before going somewhere, but it turned out to be Eve’s birthday. Birthdays are always nice, of course, but what made this one particularly lovely wasn’t necessarily Eve. Sorry, Eve.
It was her boyfriend, Indra.
He had clearly gone to considerable lengths to make the night special for her. We all got something ridiculous to put on our heads, he had prepared a little song and dance for us and he’d dressed himself up looking wonderfully giddy about the whole thing. Then he started sharing pictures he’d just taken of Eve’s ass and somehow even that felt romantic.
You could practically feel his enthusiasm. Honestly, it was adorable. They make a very cute couple.
Unfortunately, while all this wholesome romance was happening around me, I had more pressing matters to consider.
You may remember that I recently mentioned some supply-chain issues. I’d hoped those would have been resolved by now, but apparently my reporting on the matter was not universally appreciated. It turns out that publicly discussing supply problems is bad for business. And what’s bad for business is apparently also bad for the person discussing it.
In this particular case: me.
So I could feel the ground beneath my feet getting warmer rather quickly. The only reason I felt remotely safe was that I happened to be in the company of a competing dealer.
Now, something you need to know about me is that under stress I tend to say and do stupid things.
Well… I also do that when I’m relaxed, but stress does seem to improve my productivity. And if I wanted to retain the protection of this competing dealer, I figured I should make it perfectly clear whose side I was on.
Actually, why am I being coy about this? If you’ve been here before, you already know I’m talking about Opie and Markus.
With Markus nearby, I decided the sensible thing to do was demonstrate my new allegiance. And what better way to demonstrate your loyalty to Markus than by mocking Opie?
Right?
People who know Opie are already rolling their eyes.
They are correct to do so.
Because Markus is basically your friendly neighborhood dealer. Opie, on the other hand, is the sort of woman who holds a grudge, nurtures it carefully and eventually returns it to you on a silver platter. Possibly with your teeth arranged decoratively around the edge.
This distinction became considerably more important later in the evening, when Markus disappeared with his model girlfriend Sylvia and I suddenly realized that my protective detail had left the building.
I had not.
Neither had Opie.
Neither had her lethal girls.
Things deteriorated rather quickly from there.
So if you happen to see me out and about over the next few days, please don’t ask about the black eye. Don’t ask about my nose and definitely don’t ask why I’m limping.
It was all terribly embarrassing, I have learned several valuable lessons which I fully intend to forget before the weekend, and I would like to put the entire incident behind me as quickly as possible. Okay?
Also, happy birthday, Eve.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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