There’s nothing quite like a BBQ to enjoy the summer swelter, so I thought I’d invite some folks over to enjoy the day. Enter my good friend’s husband, who, since having two kids back-to-back, has not seen the outside of his house except to go to work. Not a minute went by without one of his baby-free hands clasping a frothy beer or one of my famous old-fashioneds. “Pace yourself,” I told him. “It’s only 4.” But this guy putting out a grease fire in his throat. By the middle of the party he was rocking back and forth like a boat in a storm. I thought I needed Dramamine because the guy was making me seasick. Beer splattered with his every step, bits of food flew with every word he slurred, corn on the cob turned into corn on the coffee table. Plates were knocked over. Glasses toppled. Even on his way out, he accidentally crushed the antique shoe rack I bought at an estate sale. “I’m so sorry about my husband,” his long-suffering spouse offered on her way out, a baby on each hip. “I didn’t think I’d have a third kid to babysit today.”
I Saw You is an anonymous “man on the street” column. Email your rants and raves about co-workers or any badly behaving citizens to
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