There seemed to be a consensus that the wet one was actually the one. The referendum to ratify this position was run by Drama with Jesus as his returning officer. My spluttered barely coherent protestations were swept away unheeded and unheard. A committee of experts was spontaneously constituted and convened their first extra ordinary session on the spot. They mandated themselves the unenviable task of ensuring that the wet one did not turn into the one that got away.
This committee would morph into “The Board.” Their first order of business was to dish out the mundane positions of chairman, assistant, treasurer, beer holder, and the likes. The first and only amendment to the normal articles of association was the quorum limitations. It was deemed that a quorum would consist of at least two litres of any alcoholic beverage to be present at the table throughout all sittings. The chair as with any civilized board was “Blind” to the lack of quorum unless his throat was undeniably parched without hope for replenishment.
The number of sitting members was deemed irrelevant as long as they sent proxies or replenished the bounty on the table remotely by whichever means they deemed necessary. The beer holder’s job was to maintain the flow of the crucial glue that held this motley crew together. So began the arduous ask of coming up with a plan to turn the wet one into the bearer of Kadzitulings or little kizzlers.
The first was an ill conceived plan to put some meat on the BMK! Ha! That was quickly thrown out as an implausible improbability and the next plan hatched seemed more workable. To maintain the attraction that any character flaws might diminish the board decided that it was in everyone’s interest to be slightly inebriated at all times. That meant that there would be random spot checks at my house to ensure the availability of liquor at all times, ensuring that I was not too plastered whenever the wet one was around but more importantly to ensure that she was well plied with the golden frothy stuff she seemed to prefer.
The strategy was sound I must admit. The trick was to strike a balance between my incapacity to hold my liquor while ensuring that she was always drunk enough not to notice any slip ups on my end. It is my utmost belief that this would have worked perfectly if only one thing was avoided for a time. An overnight visit would surely spell doom for me the next morning right? We pondered this for a while until Jesus in his infinite wisdom hatched another plan. In the event of a sleep over I was to leave very early in the morning and leave instructions as to where to leave the key.
We had clearly not thought this through. The first time she came over was a Saturday night and I
overslept. One, there would have been nowhere for me to go to except church which was out of the question and two I love my sleep. So it was that on that fine Sunday morning as I was bundled bodily out of bed by the wet one, drool and all! Breakfast was served on the floor of my unfurnished living room and after an uneasy half hour I popped the cherry on a vodka bottle.
Thus began the wet Sunday routine. I have to admit that the wet one was a swell chick! We came up with the most ridiculous dinking games to date. Giggling and gamboling about on the bed till late afternoon. Like all good things though and despite the best efforts of the board the halcyon phase soon faded and the inevitable break up loomed large.
It was actually after a particularly pensive wet Sunday that we drunkenly decided on a farewell foray between the sheets with a solemn promise that regardless of the intensity we would part ways amicably. The wet one it turned out was always a little bit of an overachiever. She decided to go out with a bang. My poor headboard was not meant for such trysts and gave up the good fight!
The wet one left me just the same way she found me half out of my mind, rock hard and with a smile
plastered on my face. Exit the wet one stage right.