As the ladies and I approached three a.m., the mood shifted once again. The drunken old birds tried telling the dirtiest jokes they could think of to see if they could make me blush. There was all kinds of talk of farmers' daughters, then farm equipment, then farmers' mules and a device designed to hold virgins in place. I told these women that my mom was their age and that she didn't talk like that. As if they knew my mom, they insisted she did.
All elderly women are freakin' perverts.
That really bugged me. It's not like I wanted to punch any of them. The image just stuck in my mind, this drunk old lady telling me that my mom was not a saint. I left the table at four a.m., up four dollars for my efforts. I went directly to my room and called my mother.