We’ve suited up and hit to the town. Really dressed to the nines and ready to impress. Kev, Jared, and myself, the Cannon Street Regulars, are joined by a number of handsome men ready to put all other gents to shame. We are celebrating something, probably med school related, but every knows this is just us embracing our youth. And our beauty.
Pub to pub, we chat up strangers and let the beer flow. And the shots. You all know I hate shots… at least rounds one and two, but tonight we are not mere men. We are something more. Deep in my cups, three sheets to the wind, and other euphemisms for being completely drunk, things start getting a little blurry. We’re having a blast.
Fast forward a bit (note: this is not a literary device, blurry just turned to black) and I snap to. Laughing. And a foot off the ground. Well both feet really. I was referring to the unit of measure; language is tricky. Right, some brute of a man has lifted me clear into the air by my coat collar. Or lapels. Whatever. A quick survey: we are in the middle of the street, a cab is stopped, Kevin is being yelled at by two other guys, and I’m the best dressed man here even if suspended in midair by the hulk. “Oh, I believe I’m in a fight,” slurs forth from my lips. Hulk agrees.
Now don’t fret, my friends! My gorgeous mug is preserved (seriously, my stumbling ass would have been murdered). The police show up for the rescue. Course as soon as they are out of sight, Kev slips by another shocked gentlemen holding open the door for Not-Us and steels a different cab. I give him a shrug and shoot in beside Kev. Ha! Where's your hulk? Jared hails us about a block away having watched the entire affair from afar. The cheeky bastard assures me he would have jumped in should the moment have arisen. Element of surprise and such.
All's well that ends well or so they say.
This delightful evening leads elegantly into the topic of today’s entry: health insurance. Buy it. You can get catastrophic failure insurance for some 35 bucks a month. Yea, it isn’t going to help with regular doctor visits and has a high deductable, but if you end up in the hospital with a punctured lung…
Being the gambling man I am, I went with the 60 dollar plan. I’m betting that I'm more likely than average to make use of it. So thank you, Blue Cross. Particularly for not even asking about my drinking habits.
Here’s to hoping they don’t read my blog.