A Christmiss Story

Her sister chimed in, "I'm sure Donna has lots of friends. How long have you two known each other, Anne?" she probed.

Just then the screen door banged open, and a gang of men dressed in orange vests barged into the kitchen. "You gals got dinner ready yet?" one of them boomed, while another one opened the refrigerator and took out a six-pack of Bud.

"Who wants a beer?" he said as he sized me up. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Her name is Anne," Donna's grandmother said with irritation. "Why don't you boys go into the den and watch football or something. We have a lot of work to do here." As the men retreated to watch TV, I caught the guy with the six-pack staring at my legs. Buddy, if you only knew what's under these tights, I said to myself ruefully.

Once the turkey was in the oven, I melted into the background again, pretending to listen as the waves of female conversation broke all around me. When I couldn't take it any longer, I drifted into the den and stood in the doorway, trying to catch the score of the NFL game on TV. My friend from the refrigerator slid over on the sofa to make room for me, and I reluctantly sat down beside him, tugging my kilt down over my knees as he draped his hairy arm over the cushion behind me. "How about a beer?" he burped.

"Come on, Jack, you know better than to offer the little lady a warm Bud," one of the other guys teased us. "I'll bet she'd like a nice glass of white wine, wouldn't you, honey."

Jack was up before I could respond, and when he returned a few seconds later with a glass of wine, I thanked him demurely as he sat back down beside me. "Who are you here with?" he asked.

"Donna."

"Oh oh," one of the guys blurted out. There were a few snickers from around the room, but Jack seemed undeterred. Maybe he liked the challenge. He was good-looking in a rough sort of way, and I'd no doubt he'd had his share of women. I started to get up to escape back into the kitchen when he put his hand on my wrist.