STRAWBERRY HILL

 

My brain is still working in the background to figure out the next steps for Maddie and Spence, but at the forefront are a couple of experiences from my misbegotten (actually wasn’t) youth which jumped from the depths just yesterday.

I was talking to a couple of people at the Senior Center and one of them told me to go home and have three margaritas. I responded that I couldn’t drink tequila because I once got sick on it. I also can’t drink rum or strawberry hill. Once of the women knew what strawberry hill was and laughed. This led me to regale them with the following experience.

Long ago when John and I were separated, he took to hanging out at Goofy’s which was a tavern on Ballinger Way. When we reconnected, I automatically became one of the gang which consisted of other males and now and then a female or two were included. The guys always treated me well.

One summer we all went camping in eastern Washington. Our campsite was at the corner where two roads intersected. John and one of the other guys, Brad, got seriously drunk Friday night and made a horrendous amount of noise. I cannot now remember if the ranger came to our campsite that night or if he just let us know the following morning he received a lot of complaints.

John and Brad were both very hung-over the next morning and I demanded Brad give me equal time no matter how he felt. So, he walked me into town to the local bar and I began to drink strawberry hill. I was a cheap and easy drunk so it didn’t take much. By the time I was verging on drunk, a young cowboy came into the tavern. It was obvious he was a cowboy because he was wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots and one of those belt buckles.

Well, I was just drunk enough to make an ass out of myself. I, fortunately, don’t remember everything I said and did, but I know I made the very young man uncomfortable. I do remember saying things like, “Is your horse outside? I want to ride your horse.”

Brad was eventually able to drag me away from the cowboy and the tavern. I was seriously drunk. He managed to get me back to the campsite to my sleeping bag and I passed out.

I don’t remember this part either, but there were a couple of other females with us that weekend. They thanked me (sarcastically) later for driving away an entire truckload of men. They’d stopped at the stop sign and were flirting with the women when I suddenly sat up, vomited up all that strawberry hill and passed out again. The truckload of men immediately left.

I didn’t feel so good the remainder of that day, but John was PISSED. He was so pissed, he barely talked to me the rest of the weekend. I was his wife and as such, he expected a certain type of behavior and I had really crossed the line. I have to admit that hurt my feelings, but it also made me angry.

The rest of the crew could tell how pissed John was and Brad was kind enough to take me aside when John wasn’t looking and tell me more or less that what’s good for the gander is good for the goose. The gang didn’t think any less of me for my little escapade but I think they might have thought John was a bit of an ass.