Sticky Fingers

I started relatively small. Just a little here and there. But then it got to be all the time. I've slowed down in the past year, but the temptation is always there.

I steal pint glasses from bars. I can't help it. It's a compulsion.

It started at a bar in Bingo-town. We would sit at the bar, and the glasses were just there. Right at my level. I didn't even have to reach over, just had to wait until the bartender turned his back. So it was a shot glass here, a brandy snifter there. It was better in the winter, when we all had our big coats on. Deep pockets are perfect for a pint glass or two.

Pint glasses are fun. They're like souvenirs, or a five-finger gift with purchase. I had a great Genesee one that I got from some total dive bar in Bingo. Bill and Chris had to carry the contents of my purse so I could fit the one from the Red Chair in my little black bag. I couldn't drink my Smithwick's fast enough to get the cobalt blue Labatt's glass in my work bag. And I pulled my over the bar reach to snag a PBR one from Moe's & Joe's. While I was on a date. (It wasn't going that well anyway. Burn the bad date bridge, right Nancy!)

But bars are getting wise to me. They're using plain glasses. What fun is that? Don't get me wrong, I'm not hanging up my my sticky fingers just yet. That shelf in my cupboard still has some space to fill. Sorry Jamar, but I just can't help myself.