On Melbourne Cup day Boxer Girl invited a few people to her place for lunch. Our colleague Canned Ham was, naturally, among the invitees because what social gathering is complete without the Ham bringing her special touch of magic to it. To wit:
(1) A little under half way through the afternoon, and a little more than three quarters of the way through her bottle of wine, I wandered into a conversation between Canned Ham and a girl we know called Nestegg. Nestegg's mother died suddenly a few weeks ago. With the encouragement of Boxer Girl's mother, Canned Ham was lightheartedly investigating the possibility of Nestegg's dad's interest in a booty call sometime in the future.
"Hells bells, Ham," I said. "The poor man's only been a widower for about six weeks. Maybe give him a few more days."
The Ham and BG's mother were cackling away. Nestegg turned to me and said, "I reckon the Ham could be quite good for Dad. The only thing is, I'm afraid she'd scare him to death."
(2) Not too long after this incident Canned Ham announced, with the air of one imparting news of a great tragedy, that she'd finished all of her wine. Boxer Girl asked her if she'd like a glass of water. The Ham looked horrified. "Nooooo!"