"A mimosa is a leguminous tree," I said to him, deadpan.

"What?" he asked out of semipoliteness, but with palpable annoyance.

"Leguminous," I repeated.

"Are you, like, in English or something?"

I almost said, yes, I am speaking English, but I think he was referring to what I was studying at school. "Legumes," I continued. "You know, a sort of mammal that feeds on grubs and other small insects."

"Oh," he replied, looking around the room for an out. "Right."

I pleaded with my friend to put a bottom on her bottomless drink: "Let's get the fizzuck up outta here."

A chugging contest had ensued at another table. There is just something wrong about chugging orange juice and champagne. It's like downing a Diet Coke and then squishing the can into your forehead like a gladiator.

"You need a real drink," I said to my pal on the way out. "Whiskey is on me at the Horseshoe Tavern."

"Deal," she replied.

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