Turkeys Come in all Sizes...and Shapes

Aha! My first Houston's-based vignette that I can remember. Sitting at the bar is my equivalent of Cheers, except that the bartenders don't know my name. At least, I don't think so. Instead, they know me as "The Champagne Lady." Can you believe the price has gone up $3 in two years? Ouch.
Anyway, as mis compatriotas would say, Happy Thanksgiven.

FEAST OR FAMINE

Houston’s on Thanksgiving Eve. I was sure the place would be empty – but, on the contrary, it appeared as if everyone coming into town had found his or her way to the corner of Miracle Mile and Ponce de Leon. No ropes and no lines notwithstanding, I had had to wait… although not for long. I’m a regular, after all.
Positioning myself at one of the north corners of the bar, I waited for some young women to finish their drinks. Before too long, one of them kindly offered me her seat. An equally kindly bartender – who knows me, of course – asked me what I desired to drink. For some reason, I decided on a Cosmopolitan, instead of my usual champagne or pinot noir. One sip into it, and I realized I’d lost my touch. A twelve-dollar blast of rocket fuel. Several sips later, I began to look around, for there was much to see.
A medium-short, slightly portly fellow in a suit had been standing next to me for a short time. A slightly taller, portly – and much older – guy on the other side of the bar began to openly leer at two girls sitting in front of him. Unbeknownst to them, of course. These two managed to cross each other’s paths at least once, and to exchange words. Were they commenting on the same ladies? They appeared to be bobbing up and down… like Thanksgiving turkeys. If it was going to be feast or famine this night, these two appeared as if they were going to lose a bit of their plumpness.
Several other likely looking candidates for the holiday table appeared ready and willing to give their all… to no avail. Two married types positioned themselves next to the two young women sitting next to me. Not hiding their status, they nonetheless began to shamelessly flirt with these two girls. You’re the easy type (or something like that). You’re a teacher (that one I can’t forget). On and on went the bird closest to me. The other one attempted to engage in a tête a tête with the other young lady.
By then, I had quaffed the Cosmopolitan and decided on the vegetable plate for dinner. The tomatoes were exceptional: I devoured them with relish. Not too many people actually eat a full meal at the bar on Wednesdays. The staff, however, knows I’m there for a drink and some food. After all, they know me.
One of the gobblers attempting to feast on the young prey next to me commented on my tomatoes. I think he really had his mind on getting someone else’s. Before I had finished my plate, the young ladies had had enough. One of them – whose black and white sweater I had praised earlier on – very politely said goodbye. To me.
I wonder if the turkeys finally got their fill today. All I got was a slightly headachy hangover. No more Cosmopolitans for me: I wonder how Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda can do it. It’s back to seven-dollar champagne.
And no turkey – of any kind – this Thanksgiving. I’ll survive.
Copyright, 2003 by Georgina Marrero 520 words All rights reserved