Wednesday, May 28, 2014

An Angel's Got to do what an Angel's got to do

"Damn your legs are white," I say with my feet propped on the back rail.

Her robe is hiked all the way to her crotch and her legs are pasty.

"I'm working on it," she slurs after taking a long drawl from her Tall Boy Pabst Blue Ribbon with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth and a shot glass in her other hand.

"I figured Angels would be tan," I offer. "I mean you're closer to the sun and all. Plus it's a pretty sheer robe you wear ... don't you just tan through it?"

"Turn up the Buffett," she shoots so I hit the keyboard and Jimmy sings "Creola."

"Yes," she continues out of nowhere, "we can tan through our robes but not like your tan through Speedos."

"You mean you have limited wardrobe options in Heaven?"

"Why do you think Catholic girls wear uniforms?" she snaps. "It's an outdated dress code but the friggin' Apostles are a bunch of old white men and they like their tradition."

"So male Angels wear white shirts and ties?"

"Think Jehovah Witness," she replies , "or Ernest Angley."

"No Shit," I blurt.

"Shit," she says.

Buffett moves on to "Floridays" and she says, "I'm glad you're back ... it's good to be home. Did Sarah have a good time?"

"We did," I reply taking a sip of my own beer. "Ireland's a wonderful place. We had fun."

"Good," she says taking another drawl from her Tall Boy.

"You would have fit right in," I continue. "White people are whiter there than other places."

"Shut up," she snaps.

"Fine," I say reapplying suntan lotion.

Another cigarette magically appears in her mouth.

"Don't you have someone to save today?" I ask. "Sarah and I plan on taking her folks and the girls to the beach and it would be awkward to have my Guardian Angel with us."

"Nope," she says stretching her skinny pasty white legs.

"Jimmy Cochran?" I press.

"Do not bring him up," she fires. "Or his mother."

"Alright," I say standing up to go check on Sarah. "Well you can't go to the beach with us."

"I'll watch the dogs," she says taking another shot of bourbon.

"That'd be great," I smile.

"Goddess and I get along just fine," she says with a smile.

"Are you telling me that Angels do pot?"

"God lets us only fly so high," she sighs. "Sometimes an Angel's gotta do what an Angel's got to do."

"Hmmm," I humph with no idea how to respond.