In case you’re not local, Orchard Park (or “O.P.” as the natives say) is very pinky-up-when-you-drink-your-resiling-daaaarrrrling.
The men wear corduroy suit coats with dark red turtlenecks and the women drip with fancy jewelry.
There is a Mexican food place that ‘lissa and I LOVE in O.P. and it’s a bit more laid back then the eight-dollar-martini-place next door.
After some libations, salsa and tacos, we trudge back to Ye Olde Trailblazer.
‘lissa is finishing her smoke and from the aforementioned hoity-toity place comes Screeching-O.P.-Woman-On-Her-Cell.
She’s yelling to the other party about coming over and blah blah blah… she’s probably a good, what fifty feet from us and she lets one rip.
And by “one” I mean fart.
A HUGE LOUD FART.
‘lissa looks to me and flicks her smoke on the ground while I fumble for the keys.
I get the doors unlocked and turn up the radio because we have lost our breath, we are laughing so hard.
“She should apologize to that dumpster.” I say.