The Dirty, Tan Colored Truth

We all have something that will make us tell the truth.  Something that will make dark secrets we have come out.  For me, catch me dozing and its game over.  The truth comes out.  My friend Ali will tell you anything if she's even in mild danger of being tickled.  But as we all know, the more common truth syrum is everyone's favorite past time, alcohol.  There was another name for it in Harry Potter, but its all the same.

Now drunks take many forms and with my limited experience being around them, these are a few of the classifications.  There are close talkers and questioners.  There are sloppy drunks.  There are Elaine Benes dancers.  There are passer-outers, pukers and table dancers. But just before you reach these levels, theres a brief, special moment where the elusive truth teller appears.  It's like that moment when you're walking through the crowd at Sundance and you see Jennifer Aniston walking into a club.  You pull out your phone to take a picture but nope, you're too late.  You have to be prepared.  But then again, sometimes Ms. Aniston walks up to you, pulls up a chair and starts telling you everything you never wanted to know.

Now if you're in my family and reading this you're probably asking yourself, "When did Jonathan start drinking?"  The answer is that I've been drinking Coke for about 10 years now which the bartenders are more than happy to serve as long as you leave them a decent tip.  Also, friends often need help getting home so they always appreciate having a Mormon in tow to be the designated driver.  I'm even willing to go look for them the next morning (story for another day).  So where am I going with this?

A few weeks ago I went to a piano bar for a friend from school's birthday party.  There were a bunch of people from my class there.  A few drinks were drunk and while I enjoyed my Coke.  I started talking to Cindy and she started telling me that when class started she thought I was going to be a jock.  Then we talked and I settled that misconception.  Next up was Jane, but her blue razzle dazzle AMF had already pushed her to the questioner level. Another girl from class who I haven't ever really talked to came and sat down and was in the sunset zone.  She starts talking and asks how many kids I have.  Last I checked it was a grand total of 0.  She was surprised.  Apparently she thinks I dress and look like a dad who does yardwork on Saturday mornings.  Now, I have nothing against yardworking dads, but I'm pretty sure I don't look like that.  But I decided to indulge her and asked what I should do to lose the dad with multiple kiddos look.  Her suggestion: (see below)

 

 

Now I gave this some thought.  Low cut shirts.  Pierced ears.  Tattoos.  If it gets me a girl so tan that she can't smile without her forehead crinkling I might give it some thought.  I might even get a tattoo of my car logo.

I can see it now.  I'd get the Subaru logo across my shoulders and then down in the small of my back "Subaru - Drive Life".   Well I decided to postpone my transformation, and then I saw Ms. Aniston at a party over the weekend.  Once again.  "Why are you dressed like a dad?  You look like you're going to do yardwork."  This time she was drinking water.  Or alot of Vodka.  I thought to myself "Again?  Really?  I'm wearing jeans, a checkerish shirt and skate shoes."  Then I looked and she was wearing a dress with sequins the size of quarters and wearing a mini disco ball on a necklace.  Vodka.  Sometimes its better to just smile, nod and laugh instead of telling someone that they dress like your great grandma did in 1923.  Just let the alcohol talk.