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Dry or dirty?

Last night while we were contemplating take-out Chinese, Terence thought of a funny story.

Way back when, Terence played rugby. He was really into it. I went to cheer him on at the polo fields in GG Park a few times, but the truth is, I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t like sitting with the wives and girlfriends because they were all so annoying, so I would sit off by myself, sometimes reading during the boring parts, most times cringing when he got tackled.

Not my shining moment.

Terence had a funny routine when he would come home. He’d run a hot bath, dial in the Giants game on KNBR, get in the tub with a beer and a cheap cigar and sit there, soaking and smoking and relaxing. I wish I’d taken a picture because it was hysterical.

Anyway, knowing his habits, I would often absent myself post-games to run errands or hang out with friends. I love him to pieces, but he stank to high heaven and those cigars weren’t doing him any favors.

Again, not my shining moment, part deux.

One time, he came home from a game with a fellow rugby player. I think he was going to give the guy a lift back to the city.

So Terence says to him, “I’m going to jump in the shower. You can rummage around the fridge if you’re hungry. We don’t have any beer, but there’s probably some gin or vodka in the freezer if you want to make a cocktail. Help yourself.”

So Terence gets in the shower. Five minutes into it, the shower curtain is torn aside, and a martini is thrust into his hand.

“Here you go,” says his rugby friend.

To which Terence replied, “What? No olive?”

…dramatic pause…

“Heathen.”

9:20 a.m. - 2004-05-28

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