Marriage Proposal

On a rare night, I looked surprisingly less haggard than usual (perhaps the new haircut helped) when I received a new Drunky-McD. He was naked waist down – EMS removed his pants because they were covered in snow and replaced them with a sheet. Poor bastard was under the impression that I took of his pants so he kept leering at me. He wasn’t giving me a particularly hard time except repeatedly asking for vodka in his orange juice and trying to guess at my ethnicity. His guesses ranged from Chinese to Spanish to Middle Eastern to East African (keep in mind, he’s DRUNK). When he finally gives up, he clumsily grabs my double gloved hand (because he’s got some dried vomit artfully decorating his shirt) and asks me, “baby marry me” before vomiting up some more bile. My coworkers’ barely suppressed laughter and snorting provided the soundtrack to this touching scene. After I told him that I don’t consider men with EtOH levels of greater than 20 suitable husband material, I could do nothing but laugh at how I had to reject my drunken suitor! Only in nursing.