It’s all your fault,” I said as my fiancee peeled the lids back from my eyeballs, dessicated from the diuretic effects of too many beers, gin and tonics (or is it “gins and tonic”?), martinis and something called a “Zombie,” a high octane cocktail that came in a mug shaped like an Easter Island statue.
Zombie cocktail (not shown actual size)
“How is your getting plastered at your bachelor party my fault?” she asked.
“You know what Charles Mackay said, right?”
“Who’s Charles Mackay?”
“Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds.“
“That sounds like something I’d buy the Cliffs Notes for.”
“You really should read it.”
“What’s it say?” she asked with a tone that suggested–ever so delicately–that she didn’t really care.
“Men go mad in crowds, and they come back to their senses slowly and one by one.”
“As Pee-wee Herman would say, ‘La la la–connect…
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