This is dedicated to Miss Bonny Rose Matejowsky, who reached the ripe old age of one-year-old today. May you always have humor in your life, and may you always have some Elvis in your soul.
A frigid night in December 1992 found me riding through the streets of an unfamiliar (at the time) neighborhood in Baltimore. The resident expert, Victor, assured me as Brian's Dad's 1984 Ford Mustang (can I just say eww?) chugged up the hill that we were going someplace magical, where only True Believers went. As we passed the Canton rowhome with the two-story mural of Elvis on the side, I knew we had reached Mecca. We lept from the vehicle, me with a delighted squeal, and raced toward the warmth awaiting us inside Miss Bonny's Elvis Shrine.
When we got there, the place was empty and we skittled quickly up to the bar, taking in all the Elvis memorabilia like true scholars of American kitsch. Heather blondely asked for a Mud Slide and the 70-something proprietress hacked through the smokey haze, "We got whiskey and beer, hon", despite the rack of liquers on the shelf behind her. A second time Heather asked for a Mud Slide. This time Miss Bonny replied "Eh-heh" as she slammed four shot glasses on the counter and sloshed Bushmill's in each one. Victor laughed and said that Miss Bonny still hadn't lost her touch; Miss Bonny asked after his father and brother.
The door opened and in walked a man in need of a bath with a plastic bag. He slammed three pennies on the counter and mumbled something to Miss Bonny. She looked at the change obliquely and gave him a Bud, never touching the money. Then he turned to Brian and asked him was I his girl, to which he said yes.
"Don't you want to give her some red roabses?" the man asked.
"What?" Brian replied.
"A woman like her needs red roabses."
Being that in Baltimore you get hit up by gypsies all the time for roses, Brian said no and we all continued to drink and chat, catching up after a long semester at school. But the man was not to be dismissed.
"Hey! Man!" the guy called, finishing off his beer. "Hey, you want some red roabses or what? I can see your lady's interested. What kind of cheap man are you that you don't want to give a lady like that a dozen red roabses?"
Miss Bonny told the man (Harold) that he was going to have to leave for harrassing her customers like this. She'd done told him before not to bother people like that, and she didn't care how sick his mother was, she'd call her in the hospital and tell her what Harold was doing, by God.
By this point more people had come into the bar, and all of them were looking at Brian. So he did what every man in his position would do--he asked him how much.
"Two dollars for a dozen red roabses." We'd never heard of such a thing, and Brian was feeling magnanimous after the whiskey shot and agreed to give him $5 instead. The man really looked like he needed some food, and being college students, $5 was a lot of money to us.
"Thanks, man, I hope your lady likes them." With that he handed Brian a white plastic bag, squeezed my arm leeringly, took his three pennies back off the bar, and stumbled out of the bar and into the night.
We exchanged a puzzled look over the bag. A dozen red roses don't generally come in a tied up, heavy white plastic bag. With some trepidation, Brian undid the bag and we all peered inside. I realized first what was in there and burst out laughing. The other three looked up at me in confusion until I announced with an evil cackle:
HE SOLD YOU A DOZEN RED ROBES!!
There were twelve people in the bar. In the spirit of the season, we figured any lice the robes might contain were probably less likely to infest us, so we gave a red robe to each person there.
It was probably the most festive night that bar had seen in a good while, and I'm certain Elvis cried.
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