A 1960’s Christmas Party

When I visited Youngstown, Ohio a couple years back, I popped into a vintage store. There was a pile of old photos for sale. I can never resist opportunities like this. How did these photos get here? Whose memories are these? What stories do they tell? So, I bought a bunch. Here is one of them, and the story I wrote to go with it…


The tinsel twinkles, the air smells like Swedish meatballs mixed with Shalimar and Barb’s bunions are killing her. But it’s the holidays so she’s wearing her red hoochie heels. She says, “Just gimme another Tom Collins and I won’t feel any pain!” Vicky laughs and laughs in that stupid way that means she’s going to start crying about her husband Bob any minute now. I can already hear it: “He’s cheating on me! I just know he’s cheating on me. I found lipstick on his collar. And he took a shower when he came home the other night. Why would he do that?” Patty looks away and takes a sip of her drink. If Vicky had any sense she’d notice that Patty’s shade of lipstick matches the smear on Bob’s collar. I’d bet good money on it. I almost told her the last time she was drunk. But then Barb managed to set fire to her hair with her cigarette and the evening went off the rails. Maybe I should tell her tonight. Vicky deserves to know what a low-down, dirty snake in the grass she’s married to. But no. I don’t have the heart to tell her. At least not tonight. Not on the holidays…


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