Because there is always room for another acronym in our world, I give you all MISTY or Mistake I Slept with This Year. It is gender and sexual orientation neutral and can be used in a broad set of instances.
Married or otherwise entangled – MISTY
Smoking hot but spectacularly dumb – MISTY
Manipulative Kryptonite but you still take the call – MISTY
Left you broke and battered but you thought it was a good idea in the desperate hour of a last call morning – MISTY
Beer goggled error that still drinks at your bar and propositions you for another round of drunken sloppiness – MISTY
I saw my MISTY a few nights ago. She heaved her massive boobs into my back by way of salutation – I knew she was drunk. More than most people she does the close talking thing when she has imbibed more than is prudent. It’s not that she has the typical impaired sense of spatial relations; MISTY just likes it that way.
We had barely dispensed with the pleasantries before she asked the bartender for another drink and declared “Refugee’s buying me that Manhattan.”
I gave the bartender a look that surely conveyed the “Like hell I am” that hung in the air like cartoon dialogue; but just in case it wasn’t clear, I followed it with “Not tonight.”
I am a man of innumerable faults, but a lack of generosity has never been among them. However, I am not a fan being told when to extend that generosity.
After sucking down that glorious elixir, MISTY grabbed her car keys with her left hand and my ass with her right. “You coming?”
The same cartoon clouds hung in the air and I repeated the same words in case my look was unclear – “Not tonight; and you really shouldn’t be driving.”
“I’m fine” she protested too much.
“No, you’re really not. You shouldn’t drive, let me drive you home.”
“Hell no, I’m fine.”
If you ever need an indication that you’ve had too much, responding “hell, no” when someone offers to drive you home is a pretty good clue. After a few more rounds of largely combative banter, MISTY agreed to let me drive her home, only to change her mind once we reached her car. I kept trying – really not for MISTY’s sake but for the sake of everyone else on the road – but eventually decided that I had done my good turn and went back to the bar to finish my cigar.
I had barely settled back into my seat and explained to the people next to me that MISTY had changed her mind and wouldn’t let me drive, when she reentered the bar.
“You’re really not coming home with me if I won’t let you drive?”
I wanted to say “I’m not coming home with you unless hell freezes over at exactly this moment” but I opted for the path of least resistance and concurred with her assessment.
She capitulated and I left the bar for the second time that night. And for the second time that night MISTY changed her mind once we arrived at her car door. I gave her a version of the Roadside Sobriety Test as I recalled it from the one time I had to take it and what I remember from television. MISTY failed spectacularly. Yet she was unmoved in the conviction of her ability to safely navigate the streets. I surrendered one more time with the knowledge that I had fought the good fight, had a beer and cigar waiting for me at the bar, and added one more reason to the list of why she was a Mistake I Slept with This Year.
Feel free to tell me about your MISTYs in the comments, and by the by, I will happily buy a beer for anyone who gets the reference from the title of this post.