Hand Models

I met my friend Christine at Tonic for a happy hour drink on Tuesday. She's a hand model.

And as you know, whenever something reminds me of myself, I like to tell a story. It is, indeed, all about me. You're currently reading johnpwise.blogspot.com, not someotherjackass.com, right?

Anyway, when I lived in the fun Mt. Lookout neighborhood of Cincinnati years ago, I frequented an establishment called Million's, which employed drinking consultants of all levels of experience and stages of alcoholism. And it was there that I used many awful lines and overall fictitious stories, including one that I will always enjoy. It began when a gal unknown to me approached me with what she thought was probably a simple question.

"Want to shoot some pool?"

"I can't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a hand model and I have a pretty big shoot in a few days, and my agent prefers me to stay away from pool tables."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, but I'm quite capable of holding a bottle of beer if you want to buy me another Harp."

I did end up hanging out with that girl, Tiffany, a few times, until a couple years later, when she brought a friend down to Louisville to visit me. And it turned out her friend was someone I'd gone out with a few times about eight years prior, and things didn't exactly end nicely, neither eight years ago nor that night.

So Tiffany, if you're reading, I AM NOT a hand model. But I still drink Harp.