Pipe Dream
… and you know the worst part is how they say I talk like a skipped record. If I've told them once, I must have told them a thousand times. Either quit the bottle or just don't take us out at all. But they never listen, do they? No, and there's a reason I have to keep saying it. Because it's like they have to go out and get drunk beforehand, then try to pick us up like it's no big deal. Like they've got to prove to their buddies they can hold down their liquor. Bob's been such a jerk about that lately, you wouldn't even believe. Remember the party we went to last Thursday? Deidre's? He had a quarter bottle of vodka, and that was on top of the six-pack he'd downed two hours before that. Skipped record? Forget it. Swore I could've screamed and it wouldn't have made a lick of difference.
Of course it's a big deal. We're not gonna be the ones driving the car. We're also not gonna be the ones picking their body parts off the street. Hate to make it sound that morbid, but that's how things are probably gonna go down if they don't cool it.
Have you talked to Randy?
Not so easy, huh.
No dice here, either. I've tried to tell Bob how it's going to affect his grades and all that, but he doesn't seem to care anymore. I don't know how he'll tell his parents he's failing math. They're so keen on him getting into Yale it's not even funny.
Maybe they're part of the problem. His parents, I mean. Don't get me wrong, they're perfectly decent people, never done anyone a wrong turn. But at the same time I've kind of got this feeling they just don't care about what he wants. Or worse—they do care, but only about what they want and not the things that matter. His charisma. His kindness. No, just his mind and his ability to carry on the good Sheldon name.
Either scenario's kind of terrifying when you think about it.
Marsh, come on. I'm not overanalyzing the situation here. I don't want him to give everything up, but you know, a little basic courtesy would be nice every once in a blue moon. Because there's times I just want to grab him by the shoulders and say, Give me a sign you're still alive in there, Bob. Give me a pulse. Something. Anything. You know how vivacious he used to be, so full of life. He didn't need that junk in his system to have people draw to him. And Randy … well. Randy's his best friend. He probably felt like he had to follow or else we'd leave him behind.
Aw, heck. Who knows? Maybe tonight if we catch the boys early enough, we can show them they can have just as much fun without the alcohol.
That's what I'm hoping, anyway.