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“Oh fine, be a goody-good. Care about your “job”, she huffs, her bony fingers making inverted commas in the air as she drops her tiny body back down onto her chair. “But the minute it gets to 5 pm, you and I are going out. You’ve got a face like a sad bunny, and you know I’m a sucker for animals.”
True to her word, at 5 pm on the dot, Nancy appears behind me, switches off my computer, and drags me to the closest bar where she orders us both a whisky on ice.
“So, tell me why you hate your life so much that you want to make it worse with a man,” she says, knocking back her drink in one gulp and then gesturing to the barman to bring two more over.
“I don’t hate my life,” I chuckle, wincing as I take a slow sip and feel my insides start to burn. I’m not a whisky drinker, but I know better than to say no to Nancy. “I just think it would be even better if I had somebody to share experiences with.”
“Mmmm,” she says, pursing her lips together like I’ve suggested eating raw liver. “I can’t relate.”
“But you hate everyone,” I say with a grimace as I force down another gulp of whisky.
“That is slander. I don’t hate everyone. I like you and I like Mr. Binx.”
“I feel honored to be on the same level as your cat,” I say honestly, knowing how much he means to her, and as compliments from Nancy go, that is a pretty big deal.
“Nobody is on the same level as Mr. Binx. Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” she says with a wry smile, as the bartender sets down our next two drinks. “But you’re a close second.”
The next drink slides down more easily, and I’m not sure if it’s due to Nancy’s confession or the alcohol, but I’m starting to feel kind of warm and fuzzy.
The third drink goes down like water as does the fourth, and then I lose track until the barman says happy hour is over, and Nancy commands that we leave.
“It’s criminal how much they charge for drinks around here. I could have a whole bottle at home and all without the bother of other people around,” she tuts, walking out of the bar with her back as straight as a rod while I stumble along clumsily beside her.
I’m not sure where this tiny woman puts it all, but she seems entirely unaffected while I can barely see straight.
“Thank you so much, Nancy. I needed this,” I say, reaching out to hug her as drunken love consumes me, but she darts away like a ninja.
I don’t give up though and manage to catch hold of her, clinging to her like a baby koala while she pats my back awkwardly.
“I’ll allow you this hug, but try not to make a habit of it,” she says, as she peels herself out of my arms. “Now go home and cheer yourself up with your vibrator.”
“I don’t have a vibrator,” I say, and she throws her hands up into the air with exasperation.
“What am I going to do with you? No wonder you want a boyfriend,” she says with a shake of her head, then walks away tutting and muttering to herself, “Twenty-two years old and doesn’t even have a vibrator.”
I start the walk back to my apartment, hoping the fresh air might sober me up but the alcohol is still hitting me and if anything, I feel drunker than before.
My vision is blurred, I’m unsteady on my feet, and when I cross the street to get to my building, I catch my heel on the curb and topple sideways into a bush.
My hair tangles in the branches and my elbow clunks onto something hard. I assume it must be a rock, but when I move my arm to check for injuries, I notice something gold and shiny.
Rooting around in bushes for trash wouldn’t be something sober Bethany would do but drunk me is fully invested in whatever this mystery item is. I grab hold of it, teasing it out from the leaves to discover it’s a golden lamp.
I haul myself out of the bush in the most unladylike of fashion, earning myself a fair few scratches along the way, and then take a better look at my prize.
Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking, but this lamp is spectacular. It looks like an antique, encrusted with shimmering red gemstones and an intricate pattern etched into the gold. It’s going to look divine on my bookshelf once I’ve shined it up a bit.
I totter into my building, lurch up the stairs, then spend longer than I’d like to admit drunkenly trying to navigate my key into the lock.
When I finally get into my apartment, I head straight to the kitchen in search of food because my whisky-drenched stomach is famished. I dump the lamp on the counter, then pull open the refrigerator to be greeted by the most horrendous sight imaginable. Lean meats and fresh vegetables when all I want is a big fat dirty burger.
I make do with a slice of cheese for now, shoving the whole thing into my mouth as I pull out my cell phone to order take-out. I open up the delivery app when the lamp catches my eye again. It’s probably just my drunk brain, but I swear it’s shimmering and beckoning me toward it.
I slide my phone back into my pocket, and walk over, almost hypnotized by its beauty, and grab the closest dishcloth to give it a shine.
As I start to rub, the lamp begins to shake and glow as bright as a sunbeam. The light is blinding, and the shock makes me let go of the lamp, so it clangs onto the floor.
A plume of blue smoke rises out of the spout, and then suddenly a muscular blue genie appears before me. He’s got the chiseled face of a Greek God, a thick manly beard, and long dark hair fastened back with golden clasps and trailing down his powerful back.
