Talking turkey

“So I was talking to this girl on the phone, and she says ‘Happy Turkey Day’ and I’m like, that’s the final strike, you’re out,” Joe said. He is drinking beer and doing shots of tequila for his sciatica pain.

“You actually said that to her?” I say. “The final strike?”

“No, I didn’t say it out loud. But that was it,” he says emphatically.

“You sound like the man-hands episode of ‘Seinfeld,’ ” I tell him. ”

“I was dating this 42-year-old,” he says. “She kept wanting to talk to me. Like, she was telling me about her 13-year-old son, how he was excelling at something. I just didn’t want to hear it. And she always had chardonnay breath, because she was always drinking chardonnay.”

I wouldn’t say Joe is fickle, exactly. It’s just that, like a bee, he flits from flower to flower.

Despite large quantities of beer and tequila, his sciatica is only getting worse, and he shifts in his chair, trying to get comfortable. A couple of us point out that caffeine and alcohol will only dehydrate him and make the problem worse.

“I really need to change something in my life,” he says, agreeing. “Maybe milk and cookies instead of beer, something like that.”