(prompt: 'fun' 30/8/2018)
"Lick yer WOT?" Baz scratched his beard, his face a picture of disgust, causing Joe to tighten up his mouth several more notches to suppress the ear-to-ear grin threatening to split his face in two.
He'd thought he'd be safe today, it being Sunday lunchtime with a hearty barbecue fired up and ready to go in his backyard. Chops, snaggers, even a decent bit of steak, big enough to share; good old S&P; few eggs and a heap of damper rolls; plenty of Tomato AND BBQ-type sauce; every essential for a man's BBQ.
What Joe hadn't counted on was the 'hair of the dog' Baz insisted on almost immediately he opened his still bleary eyes. "Purely medicinal," he'd stated. "Just settle the guts," he'd said, patting his substantial example. "Tether the think-tank down." And he blinked his baby-blues rapidly as he whizzed his hand around in circles, demonstrating his unstable world.
It had seemed a good conversation-starter, suggesting to Baz they could experiment with making their own liqueur - an Irish Cream to die for. Joe had no doubt it would be a popular idea, after Baz's unsuccessful chat-up of that little dolly-bird last night. George the bartender's face, with one eyebrow kinked impossibly high, had clearly shown his accord with Joe's despairing thought, Oh no. Not again! Just like the time before, Baz hadn't gotten to square one. Despite his best efforts, the winsome Polly had turned on her heels and teetered away, glass of 'Baileys on the Rocks' in hand.
A short discussion with George had led to Joe's brainstorm for Baz to use on his next foray into a possible liaison with this perfectly lovely example of the fairer sex. The suggestion was a new, sexy, updated approach of the old 'would you like to come up and see my etchings?'; an invitation to the pert young Polly to 'come up and sample MY Irish Liqueur', with the extra temptation, 'it's enough to make Bailey emigrate back to Ireland' - followed by the suggestion he urgently needed an expert 'common-sewer' opinion. Both George and Joe believed they could teach Baz to say that quickly enough to fool Polly that he'd actually said 'connoisseur', before the week was out.
After perusing Joe's recipe (and looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure his boss was nowhere within hearing), George nodded wisely and pronounced his professional opinion. "Thing is, whether it works or not, you'll both have the best time making your brew, even though Baz is a dedicated beer man." And George reached below his bar before straightening up to stand tall with a bottle of the real McCoy. No fears of the boss witnessing an unexpected sale of this calibre.
"A few checks of your brew against this little beauty - purely in the interests of science and true love, of course - and you won't hear the Bashful Baz asking - 'are we having fun yet?"
YOU ARE READING
Shhh! Scribbler at WorkShort Story
In 2018, here's another collection of flash fiction (and non-fiction) tales written for the purpose-designed 'Weekend Writein prompts', challenging writers to produce around 500 word stories each time we choose to join the party.