Prankster Bev

I met up with my good friend, Norbert Mulligan last night for a few margaritas. Norbert is a former coworker, and we made this happy hour plan on Tuesday night, after Bev inadvertently took five years off Mulligan’s life. (Mulligan is one of those people whose last name becomes his first name, FYI. I will rarely refer to him as Norbert)

You see, Mulligan and I have a history of pranking each other (see this post), and I drive by Mulligan’s current (and my former) workplace on my way to the gym. So… on Tuesday, I was a little early, and had time to rummage through my glove compartment, find a Chipotle napkin, scribble the words, “I’m watching you. Bitch.” on said napkin, and stick it under Mulligan’s windshield wiper. Harmless, right? Yeah, harmless until Mulligan is in the building alone around 6 p.m. and the fire alarm goes off. The fire alarm goes off, as in police and firefighters actually show up, case the whole building, and then inform Mulligan that they can’t find the source of any fire, or why the alarm goes off, and they advise him to leave for his own safety. A bit unsettling, right? Then, he gets to his car and my note is there. And guess what Mulligan’s staff had catered for lunch that day? Chipotle. So, he’s basically convinced that someone snuck in the building, was watching him, and is going to hunt him and chop him into pieces. Nope. Just Bev on the way to the gym. Sorry, Mulligan. Drinks on me for life.

In other news, is it just me, or does happy hour, like, actually mean happy hour in your thirties? I mean, happy hour when I was in my twenties was basically a pregame for a night of debauchery that may or may not end up with my bra in a toilet (it happened), and happy hour in my thirties is little more like… two margaritas, two tacos, and then I went to Walmart and bought a CrockPot. (see this post for the detes on that situation) And I didn’t even write that for MamaG’s benefit, now that she’s a reader. It really happened. Wut?

-Bev

P.S.- Back to Mulligan. Look at this picture and tell me you’re not laughing your ass off.