Always the Last Word

I’ve only been to Canned Ham’s house a couple of times, and always from my place, so when I dropped her home after work yesterday evening we were coming from the city and she had to show me the way.

She convinced me to stay for a glass of champagne, which turned into I’m-not-sure-how-many because my hostess was keen to provide refills when the glass was only half empty. After a couple of hours of much convivial chat, I decided I really had to go*. As I got in my car The Ham had a look of concern on her face.

“Do you know where you’re going, haze?”

I looked at her. “Yeah. Home.”

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While we were scoffing brie and guzzling champagne The Ham’s daughter came in the front door. She’s turning 21 soon and Ham decided then and there that I should make her party invitations. We chatted about what she might like for a little while and then I remembered some thank you cards I had in the car that I made a while ago but am only just getting round to using. I brought one in to show the young lass. She quite liked the look of it.

Later, as I backed the car out of the driveway, The Ham called out to me. I stopped and she came over to the window: “Now, haze, I’m not going to make you a card, but thank you for the lift home all the same.”



*A couch and a DVD required my urgent attention.