Small Story

Long ago, my parents set out to go out for an old fashioned cocktail hour followed by dinner and dancing.  Their destination was a fancy steak place with the requisite cocktail lounge, which stood at the edge of a cliff looking out over the ocean.  My mother (who was unsafe at any speed) drove them in her little Corvair (which also was unsafe at any speed) down the winding roads along the coast.  She parked in the parking lot and they got out of the car and marveled at the cliffside view.

They made their way inside and began the cocktail portion of the evening, sitting in front of a big plate glass window which allowed them to look out over the water.  They had many cocktails and at one point my mother noticed that my father had a strange expression on his face.  She waited thinking he might tell what what was wrong, but he remained quiet, so finally she asked him what was wrong.  He said, in an offhand way, “Oh I was just watching our car slip off and over the cliff.  I think we are going to need another cocktail.”