Eightball in the pocket

I try not to participate in height inflation. The measuring stick tells me I am 5'7", but other women my height say they are 5'8''. Which means that in man-height, I am about 5'10''. Last night I went out with some Brooklyn girls, and for the first time ever, I was the shortest one. It was definitely weird, and I can't say I liked it one bit.

The lovely ladies: Murphy (pool name: Jackhammer), Wick (pool name: Petri Dish), Zube (pool name: Wall. Or was it Flower?), and myself (pool name: Flower. Or maybe Wall. I can't remember).

We had a few drinks and went to play some pool. (Note: I do not play pool, but am always a willing observer. Dirty will back me up here.) We came across two gentlemen to play pool with. Both were from Indiana. Both were essentially married. Both seemed psyched to hang out with four lovely birds that weren't their wives. The first guy, Married (pool name: The Anvil, partner: Jackhammer) seriously had the weirdest twang. Definitely not how anyone I know from Indiana talked. Almost like that big rooster in those Looney Toons cartoons (Foghorn Leghorn). He also had the most ridiculous chuckle. Egads. He laughed a lot. He also wore pleated khakis.

The other dude, Almost Married (pool name: Bacteria, partner: Petri Dish), loved Wisconsin (Zube was from there) and would not stop talking about how great people from Wisconsin were. Now, that's all fine and dandy, but Wisconsin is also my home state's rival. Crikey, it's not THAT great of a state (Cheeseheads, please don't hate). At least MN has Prince, bless his purple-loving soul.

All in all, pool was played, the reigning pool sharks were usurped (props to Bacteria & Petri Dish), stories were told, and bedtime was late. Good times.