By the end of that day’s march, I was absolutely exhausted. Myth had been right: lugging around twelve bottles of cider was hard work. Myth had even carried six of the bottles for me, which I thought was quite sweet of her. But even so, the cider would have to go.
So I decided that Myth and I should celebrate—a party just for the two of us. And what better way to celebrate than by enjoying some hard cider as we sat beside the campfire.
Myth only drank a couple bottles as we chatted and laughed together; she was the model of moderation. But I… Well, I admit that I over did it.
“Maybe you should slow down, Izzy,” said Myth as I uncorked my seventh bottle.
“Don’ worry,” I said, looking at the three fuzzy Myths sitting beside me. “I jush fine.”
I took a swig from the bottle and then pointed it at the middle Myth. “Theresh shumshin I been meanin’ to shay about your legsh.”
…I am sorry, Buster. But the rest of that night is a bit of blur…
I did not really wake up the next morning, not in the proper sense. It would be more accurate to say that I staggered into consciousness. Oh! My poor head was screaming at me, telling me that it did not appreciate the abuse I had put it through. And my tummy felt all twisted up, rumbling as if it needed me to spend the entire day in an outhouse.
Moaning, I wobbled as I rose onto my feet. I blinked several times, trying to convince my eyes to work properly. Then I stumbled over to the fire.
Myth was cooking breakfast.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and said, “Ow. Good morning, Myth.”
“Oh, hi!” snapped Myth.
Her tone shocked me because Myth never spoke harshly to me. Uh-oh, I said to myself. Is she mad at me?
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
Myth glared at me. “You don’t remember what you did last night, really?”
Now I was worried. I must have done something terrible, I thought. But what did I do?
"U-um, n-no,” I stuttered.
“Well, let’s start with some of the things you said,” snarled Myth. “Like when you compared my bum to a… What was it? Oh, yes—a giant, juicy peach! That was a personal favorite of mine. You really know how to charm a woman.”
I whimpered as my heart plummeted to my feet. Oh, wicked Izzy, I rebuked myself. How could I have said that to Myth?
Muttering, I said, “I’m so sor—”
“Then you called me the loveliest love bunny in Nisse Cul Tairna.”
I covered my face with my hands. A few tears trickled out of my eyes. I acted like an absolute beast last night, I told myself.
“And then you started touching me,” Myth went on unrelentingly. “But not like when you slap my arm playfully or rub my shoulders. No, last night you went straight for my… well…” Myth looked down at her chest.
I gasped. You have no idea how awful I felt, Buster. I wanted to crawl beneath a rock and die. There was no going back from what I had said and done: I had crossed The Line. My feelings towards Myth no longer mattered. Now she would not even want to be my friend, much less my girlfriend.
But Myth was not done yet. “Even worse, you—”
“I did something worse than that!”
When will this torment end? I wondered. Just how big of a lout was I last night?
Myth nodded her head and uttered, “Uh-huh.” Scowling at me, her eyes ablaze with anger, she said, “Oh, I can’t wait to tell you about the worst thing you did.”
I sniveled and covered my mouth, convinced that whatever I had done must have been truly dreadful.
“The. Worst. Thing. You. Did…” said Myth slowly, her words dripping with venom. “…is that you believed everything I just said.”
It took a moment for Myth’s words to sink into my head. And then…
“Oh. You. Evil,” I muttered.
Myth was bent over, laughing her big, fat mouth off.
I clutched my chest, trying to keep my racing heart from sprinting away. “That was so mean, Myth.”
“Yeah,” said Myth, smiling at me. “I got a bit carried away, didn’t I? But you have to admit it was funny.”
Frustrated but relieved, I slapped Myth’s arms several times. Once I got that out of my system, I huffed and sat down by the fire. My poor arms and legs were shaking like mad. “So, I really didn’t do or say any of those things?”
“No, Izzy,” said Myth, sitting beside me. She rubbed my shoulder. “You were a well-behaved young woman—albeit a drunken one.”
“You promise?” I said, still incredibly upset.
“I swear it,” declared Myth.
I gasped a few times, composing myself. “So, what did I do last night?”
“Well,” said Myth, “you kept trying to stand up; I think you wanted us to dance. I was worried that you’d fall into the fire.”
“That’s a bit embarrassing,” I replied. “But I can live with that.”
Myth rubbed my shoulder again. “And you talked about my legs—like, a lot.”
I slapped her knee. “Myth, enough already—stop teasing me!”
“I’m not teasing you,” she replied. “You did talk about my legs—a lot.”
“Oh, blast it,” I muttered, covering my face with my hands.
“You didn’t say anything bad,” said Myth. “And you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You’d just ramble on and on, as you are prone to do—”
I slapped her knee again.
“—and every so often you’d pause, compliment my legs, and then start rambling again.”
My face felt warm; I am certain that it was bright red. “But that’s it, right? I didn’t do or say anything else.”
“That’s it. But I am curious about this fascination you have with my legs.”
“Oh, that,” I said as I chuckled, hopefully convincingly. “That was just the cider talking. Pay no attention to it.”
Myth smirked and said, “The cider, huh? I’m not so sure about that.”
She patted my knee and then stood up. “But I’m positive that today’s walk won’t be a picnic for you.”
Myth was right. Before the day ended, I vowed never to drink hard cider again—or at least for a month, anyway.