Why I NEVER Ever Drink Gin….

I was 14 years old, and my friend Jackie, the Chaplain’s daughter, was 16. We had walked

off post, from Fort Myer, to Arlington, headed to the Drug Fair to pilfer some earrings or

something.. Just two little girls who thought they were grown. The two men we let pick us up were definitely grown, but young, early twenties; and they

had a car they were pretty proud of. Jackie and I thought it was a pretty nice car too, so we

got in, and the boys - men - drove us into Washington DC, to a bar quite close to my

pediatrician’s office; its name was a number - The 623 Club, maybe, or 324. I am good with

numbers, so I’m surprised I don’t quite remember.

Except, of course, by the time I left that club, I was oh so smashed, inebriated, drunk as a

skunk. Jackie and I had been, in that great foreboding phrase, plied with drink. My choice was

- were - sloe gin fizzes…..I don’t know what Jackie drank, surely something as innocent and

lethal. I have no idea where they were planning to take us. Back to their place? To the wonderful

huge Arlington cemetery, to hunker behind a large tombstone? Whatever, and before anyone

gets too worried, after I managed to crawl into the back seat of the car, my Guardian Angel

must have stuck her finger down my throat, because I then proceeded to throw up all over my

clothes, their fine car, and best of all, one of them. They took us back to where they had picked us up, which was actually nice; and tossed us out. We snuck back to our designated houses where no one was ever the wiser. I can’t say that either the Chaplain’s nor the Colonel’s daughter was ever any wiser either, but perhaps…perhaps…we were more cautious?