Hugs without arms

Several weeks ago, I ventured out on a Friday night with a couple of friends to have a few cocktails, talk shit and sing some terrible karaoke. We were at a crappy hole in the wall bar (totally up my alley) called Corky’s. I’ll give it to your straight… the people there are frightening. It is people watching at its absolute finest. The bartender is a seven foot tall woman with gargantuan boobs which somehow manage to be eye level regardless of what you do to try and avoid looking. She looks at me like she wants to rip my legs off, dip them in BBQ sauce and call me dinner. I’m often terrified just to order a drink. While at this shit hole, I’ve engaged in a conversation about pop-tarts with a man wearing a bicycle helmet and swim goggles, watched a man who was presumably on the bath salts throw a mini bowling ball at the bowling machine from behind the bar with a blindfold fashioned out of napkins, and had more prison related dialog than I’d care to recount. However, I still wasn’t prepared for what I was about to witness.

I was patiently waiting in the bathroom line when I was approached by an extremely intoxicated woman in need of assistance. She must have made me for a sucker because she bypassed three other women and came straight up to me. One humongous, droopy boob was exposed and her Bee Gees t-shirt and bra were situated around her neck. I tried desperately not to look, but I did catch an unfortunate glimpse of her nipple. It looked exactly like a tomato basil tortilla. She inched closer to ask for my assistance and her breast grazed my arm. It felt like a balloon full of pudding. I couldn’t understand her because she had a hearing impairment. I felt bad for her and wanted to help, but I still had no clue why she was peeing shirtless in a tavern restroom. She seemed nice enough, but I was kind of drunk so I was asking random questions to try to make things less awkward. “Have you tried that new Bud light/margarita concoction that comes in a can? I bet it’s deee-lish.” The more I fumbled with my words, the more agitated she became. Just then, I realized that she didn’t have arms. She had hands, but they were sticking directly out of her shoulders. This still didn’t explain the braless tinkling, but at least I knew she wanted me to stuff that thing back into her cross-your-heart bra and get Barry and Maurice Gibb’s faces back where they belonged. I obliged, while I talked to myself out loud about the score of that evening’s Tribe game.

She was very thankful and came at me for an armless hug. It was not a success. I imagine it would be a lot like thinking you were about to be attacked by a Pterodactyl, then realizing it was really friendly and a bit misunderstood. I actually admired her for not letting her disabilities ruin her good time. Only after this whole event transpired did she saunter over to the faucet and wash her hands. At this point my imagination is running wild and I’m wondering about the wiping strategy and where the hell her jerk friends are to leave her in there flashing strangers like it’s Mardi Gras. I gathered my composure, dabbed the sweat from my brow and headed back to the bar. I never did pee. My 45 minute absence didn’t seem to bother my friends a bit. I could have been dragged into the alley out back and murdered by the guy in the helmet because he didn’t agree with my love of brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts.

I looked as if I’d seen a ghost as I sat back on my stool and ordered 3 shots (for myself). I recounted the story in detail to my friends. The two of them started to gaze around the room looking for her. They started asking questions like… “Does she have brown hair?” “Is she wearing a gray shirt?” “Is she taller or shorter than I am?” I looked at them in disbelief and said, “Well, assholes, I’m pretty sure she’s the only one in here with her arms sprouting out of her shoulders.” Can we just stop beating around the bush? For Christ’s sake! And, why are you whispering? Didn’t I mention the hearing impairment? For the love of God, people. It was an odd experience, and I’m in no way making fun of her disabilities. I say Kudos to her for pulling up a bar stool. Her decision making processes are questionable, but who hasn’t had a stumbling block in that regard. I’m fairly confident I’ve scored a friend for life. Not one other woman I know can say that I’ve inadvertently fondled their boobs in a public restroom in front of spectators.


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

July 2012
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