Speaking of Cocktail Napkins...

And while we're on the topic of cocktail napkins (and if you have no idea what I'm talking about, my husband I just celebrated 5 years of marriage and it all started out with a cocktail napkin) it really got me to thinking.

If cocktail napkins could talk, they might thank the millions of people who have spared their little tiny lives from drowning in a sea of cocktail sweat by writing their phone numbers down on them.

The cocktail napkin might be smothered in a smoky pocket or purse for a while but eventually, they'd come to live on an open surface where they can breathe, very likely on a dresser or counter and more likely, near a phone.

The cocktail napkin would be a sought-after commodity, feeling special for a while, and eliciting sheer panic by their new humanfriend at just the very thought of it being lost. That must make a cocktail napkin feel pretty good.

Because on that napkin lives a series of numbers. The series of numbers that may or may not belong to someone's potential life-long mate. At least that's the seriousness and gravity of the situation in a woman's mind. Likely not so much in a man's. The man looks at the series of numbers as an invitation to whatever their man-minds conjure up and us womenfolk hope (pretend) that it's something to do with picnics and long walks on the beach. At least we hope so. The cocktail napkin doesn't mind either way. The cocktail napkin just knows it's needed and wanted and that its tiny little cocktail napkinlife has been lengthened for now. And it sure is happy feeling loved for a while.

But sadly, in recent years, the population of tiny cocktail napkins has become distressed. Because it's being neglected. The one reprieve that the cocktail napkin once had is gone because the cell phone has taken its place! People don't need cockail napkins for a vehicle of a number exchange. Instead, the number bypasses the napkin and goes straight to the phone!

The cocktail napkin is sad.

The cocktail napkin is afraid.

It no longer has that glimmer of hope of escaping into a back pocket or a purse. Now it just waits. Waits for your glass of water, your frothy beer, and then it will take its place under your glass and then as a wet, wrinkled up mess, take its final trip into the garbage.

Think about this as the cocktail napkin drowns underneath your cocktail, beer, or water while you're sipping away happily.

So next time you're out and about and you're about to hand your number over to Mr. or Mrs. Right, go ahead and take an extra minute. Write your phone number down. And save a cocktail napkin.
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  1. Ha! I love this! My first laugh of the morning!

    The cocktail napkin is sad.

    Loved it. Thanks for the laugh! :)

  2. :P

    mine was sent via email. internet dating really does a number on the poor napkin

  3. if only Tiger Woods had used cocktail napkins...


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