Sorry, but no HNT this week, I was drunk last night.

Okay, maybe I wasn't drunk, but I forgot to get something ready yesterday and when I got home from dinner last night, I fell a sleep.

Last night I went to dinner at a local seafood bar/restaurant. Liz, our favorite barmaid was working. The place was quiet with just me and three women in their 30s sitting at the bar. I ordered a beer and asked for a menu planning to stay just long enough for dinner and a couple of beers. That wasn't in the cards and it wasn't my fault, I swear.

Liz puts out shot glasses in front of us when I sat down and told us that she wants to drink to a girl friend of hers that was murdered by her boy friend last week. She pours Jamenson scotch in the glasses, because that's what what her friend drank. We toasted to Liz's friend, may she rest in peace.

The small talk started, another friend of the girls came in and sat next to me. This women was older, she said 50-something. How do I know this? Because the girls wanted Liz to guess how old they were. Then they asked me. Ya, like I'm going tell them what I really think. I made some lame guess about being in their mid-20s, got a few giggles out of them and they gave their real ages; 32, 34, 31 & 50-something.

Then I asked them to guess how old they thought I was. I got a 42, 44, 39 & 54. (What sweet girls.) They feigned surprise when I told them I was going to be 61 on the 4th. Time for another round of shots this time paid for by the girls. I choose scotch again as not to mix my liquors. Bottoms up!

My dinner came. It was a special of the day; linguine with white clam sauce with three different types of sauted fish, fresh spinach & grape tomatoes. You could have fed four with the amount they gave me. More small talk about my dinner and before I knew it, the woman next to me wanted to buy me a shot. She doesn't drink scotch, so we settle on Southern Comfort, chilled.

Seems she met her girl friends up there because she didn't want to go home and eat the steak her husband was cooking for dinner. Huh? Her husband cooks dinner and she doesn't want to eat it? She said she doesn't like steak and their kids will be there, so she won't be missed. What's up with that?

Anyway, more small talk, another beer or two another shot and I bid them a fond farewell.

What's with these girls buying me shots? Do I look easy to them?