Bourbon Street Black-Out

I have never felt so terrible in my life.  What I had seen, could not be unseen. Bourbon Street had claimed another victim.

I picked myself off the bathroom floor after many hours of “Driving the porcelain bus” and entered into the hotel room that I was sharing with my wife, and my parents.

Once they had finally stopped laughing at my expense, I requested an answer to a question that every black-out drunk has…What the hell happened? – But I hadn’t forgotten…I had only hoped it was a bad dream.

We spent the day on Bourbon Street, eating oysters, and engaging in the finest alcohol induced tradtion of all time, Mardi Gras.  My wife and I, along with my parents, had been hopping from bar to bar in search of a joint with live music.

We all began dancing to the beat of a Bon Jovi tribute band when we noticed one of Mardi Gras finer traditions…Boobs. 

As my father and I stared uncontrollably, my mother and my wife were not amused but could understand the fascination, as this woman’s plastic surgeon had done a fine job, and she was his pro bono advertisement. 

We kept staring as she was handing out motor boat calling cards to all parties.  My Mom, still not amused by the situation says, “Why don’t you go get you a Motor Boating too?” 

Knowing that there was no way in hell that my wife would allow that, my sarcastic rebuttal was, “Why don’t YOU go get one?”

Never, in a million years, did I expect my mother to call my bluff. 

Off she went towards the motor boat saleswoman.

I had to close my eyes.  My father didn’t.  He was like one of those Garfield the Cat suction cup toys clinging for dear life on the rear window of a station wagon.

The deed had been done.  My attempt to extract the image from my brain by blacking out on Tropical Isle Hand Grenades was unsuccessful.  What I saw was now burned into my memory for eternity.

My Mom is a Motor Boater…What has your Mom done lately?