It was official. Vixen was through with men. She stabbed at an olive at the bottom of her drained martini. Her mascara had run down the sides of her big doe eyes, leaving zebra stripes on her fair coat.
“Pour me another, will you, D?”
The bartender sauntered over to her favorite customer.
“What happened this time?” D asked as she poured Vixen a glass of water.
“Is it too much to ask for a little romance these days?”
It was bad enough Vixen’s birthday fell right around Christmas. Her entire life she had accepted birthday gifts as Christmas gifts and Christmas gifts as birthday gifts. She thought she had made it clear how small and insignificant this cheap double-gifting had always made her feel. She thought this guy would be different.
“What happened to the home-cooked birthday dinner by the fire?” D asked.
“Well, it was going well…I mean, he made lasagna and there was wine- lots- and he got me a gift...a paw scrub from the Dead Sea.”
“Until dessert!” Vixen chomped on the olive devouring it toothpick and all.
“The bastard had the nerve to offer me frickin’ eggnog!”
D shook her head and poured her friend another martini. ‘Well, my dear…I can’t quite give you what a good ‘ol buck might, but I can make you a mean birthday martini.”
Vixen smiled and wiped her tears. “D…I think you’re the best friend I got.”