"So how exactly does the whole 'using a deer as a prophylactic' thing work?" I enquired, swigging wine from a nearby caraf.
My companion did that gesture with a wine glass thing that drunk people do and slurred something unintelligable.
We'd intended to go out and hit a bar, but a roaring fire and bottles of wine soon put paid to that. I sat, sipping wine and looked at my companions. One I'd met before, for the others I could count the days I'd spent in their company on the fingers on one hand. J was the baby of the party, a skiier of my level and clearly in awe of the capacity of the rest of us to consume alcohol. A had assumed the role of matriarch, and had become progressively posher as the wine had gone down. G, on the other hand, was pretty and relatively quiet but yet had a deer fixation.
She raised an eyebrow: "In the usual way, of course..."
Beer: helping strangers have progressively more surreal conversations since 1436.
G wielded a bottle a Raspberry Vodka. Alas, even drinking a silent toast to Ms. Sundae's breaking of a vow could not make the awful stuff palatable.
I love it here. I'm already working out a way to return in March.
