oh Henry

Henry felt an unmistakable twinge of jealousy upon hearing the word.

He’d stopped by a friend’s house only to find him nowhere to be found (great sentence… somebody had to have written “only to find him nowhere to be found” before, right?). The aforementioned friend’s wife explained he was not home and that he was no doubt off gallivanting down at the pub.

Henry was suddenly aware of the fact that he’d never gallivanted.

While he couldn’t exactly explain what constituted gallivanting, he was pretty sure that you’d know it if you were doing it. i.e. if you have to ask if you’re gallivanting, you’re not gallivanting.

And he was also pretty sure it typically involved alcohol.

It is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine that sets the wisest man to sing at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool—it drives the man to dancing…it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told.”

—Homer

Henry doesn’t drink. There is no moral objection to it; he simply doesn’t like the taste. He has the palate of a seven year old. Wine just tastes liked grape juice that has gone off.

Time and again at social events he’ll stand holding a soda or bottle of water while all around him people are getting inebriated. When he realized that some of those folks jumped to the conclusion that he didn’t drink because of some past problem with the bottle he made a point of not denying it.

He sort of enjoys the idea of having a dark past.  That in some prior incarnation he was a ‘bad boy.’ In fact, after years of experimenting with it, he has perfected a slight wince followed by briefly, almost imperceptivity, staring off into the horizon after being asked if he would like a beer.

Once in the midst of such a performance he replied “No thanks… I’m groovy.” Why he said groovy he’ll never know, but the response that came from the woman extending a beer haunts him to this day; “No. You’re not.”

“Here’s to alcohol, the rose-colored glasses of life.”

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

He attempts to comfort himself with the idea that bad boys aren’t necessarily groovy, but it rings a bit hollow. What’s groovier than a bad boy?

“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning,

that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.”

—Dean Martin

When he was younger his parents used to keep a big bowl of Oh Henry! candy bars on the kitchen counter. While everyone enjoyed the peanuts, caramel, and fudge concoction smothered in chocolate, they were not there as the occasional treat. When Henry had done something to annoy his parents, they would take one of the confections from the bowl and throw it at him.

They didn’t even need to articulate “Oh Henry!” The candy bar did it for them.

“No wonder I’m not groovy” he would later conclude.

And no wonder that being a bad boy was never on the menu. It would have resulted in multiple candy bar-shaped welts on his stomach and neck.

And as far as gallivanting, his parents would have no doubt hunted him down, bowl in hand, and put an end to it before it began.

“After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.”

—Oscar Wilde

Walking away from the house he realized he didn’t have the energy or interest to track down his friend and engage in any gallivanting. Nor did he have any desire to visit the local convenience store and watch the girl who had dubbed him ‘ungroovy’ unhappily doing her job. If her name happened to be Candy then maybe it might have been worth his time, to revel in the convoluted irony, but it was not. It was Carol. Not even Karol or Carrell.

So that was that.

super extra bonus quote:

“Trust me, you can dance”

– alcohol