My liver, on the other hand, is rejoicing.

Friday, we got home at the relatively respectable hour of 3:30. The owner wasn't playing his usual upbeat, sing along and dance, playlist. Consequently, we realized just how tired and somewhat drunk we were, and made it an early one. It was a good move, really, as it left us fresh as daisies for Saturday night. Well, fresher than usual, which was good since Saturday was a pretty eventful night. Not so much for me and Elvis, but certainly interesting. Sort of like a spectator sport.

Miss Kitty was invited to a party, and she asked Pooka Boy to tag along, seeing as she has no boyfriend and didn't know anybody there apart from the hosts. They went to the pub first, for some pre-party beverages. Get in the mood, that sort of thing.

I'm thinking they overdid those beverages, because while they were there Pooka Boy told Miss Kitty that he was interested in her. Very interested, in fact, and not just in knowing how the job was going and so forth. He wants her, he said, and she should make no mistake as to what his intentions are. Which is rather interesting, as he's spent the last few months telling all and sundry that he could never go out with Miss Kitty, that she was a dear friend akin to a sister, and that it was the P. Sweetie-- or someone just like her-- that he really had the hots for.

Not to mention stating a couple months ago that he regarded Miss Kitty as just a friend, and that she was "sending out mixed signals."

Uh, yeah. Whatever.

They left the party early, called us, and we all met up in another pub. Personal note to myself here: the bourbon was a bad idea, do not do it again. Mind you, I only had two, but I don't usually drink hard liquor, and certainly not after drinking wine or beer. Still, it was better than Miss Kitty, who found a receipt in her purse the next day for four vodkas, plus someone bought her at least one more. We were only there for a couple of hours, too.

Pooka Boy took off after a while to meet a friend in another pub. (Cascais is lousy with them-- pubs, I mean.) We were planning to meet him there in a bit, but that never happened. Which explains why Elvis and I each found a message from Pooka Boy on our phones the next day, wondering where we were. In our defense, it was loud in there and we never heard the phones when he sent them.

Miss Kitty found five.

Sometime after PB left, Lover Boy showed up. Remember him? He was with another couple, and a woman we soon discovered to be his date. It didn't take long, especially since he marched right over and planted his little group next to ours at the bar. He seems to be in Looove, or at least Lust, to judge by the way he was all over her. That, or he rented her for the evening: that was quite the outfit she was wearing. My favorite bit was the hot and heavy dancing. In fact, we all appreciated it-- it was more along the lines of a floor show, especially since the pub we were in is not the kind of place where people dance. So that was fascinating.

Then it was off to the Evil Late Night Bar to drink some more, wiggle it a bit, and sing off key. Pooka Boy was there already, as was Horatio. Horatio is Portuguese and a fabulous guy. I really enjoy talking to him, as do we all. We see him at the Evil Bar all the time. And on Saturday night, Miss Kitty enjoyed flirting with him as well.

Pooka Boy didn't enjoy that bit much. He kept trying to get her to leave with him: "You've had a lot to drink, let me walk you home." Miss Kitty, however, did not want to leave and did not want Pooka Boy to walk her home, so she kept saying No Thank You and floated off to dance with Horatio. Finally, at around four, PB left in a sulk. Not a minute too soon either, as the next time I turned around, Horatio and Miss Kitty were kissing.

Not the demure peck of friendship either, but Big Time Snogging. Sucking face. Giving their tongues a good workout. You get the picture, I'm sure. In between bouts, Miss Kitty chatted with friends and Horatio wandered around with glazed eyes, a big smile, and an "I can't believe my luck" expression. Then-- bam!-- they were at it again. Wow! Two floor shows in one night-- how often does that happen?

Miss Kitty didn't get home until after 7 am. She and Horatio sat in the park talking for an hour after the owner kicked everybody out of the bar. He has a cute way of doing that, by the way: "Here's a free shot of apfelkorn. Now leave." She went home alone, by the way. Miss Kitty is very good at taking care of herself, I must admit. That didn't stop Elvis and I from trying to walk her home, of course, but she refused repeatedly. Having too much fun, I guess.

Miss Kitty thinks nothing will come of it. He fails The Question, for one thing, since he's over thirty and still living at home with his parents. On the other hand, he's a truly nice guy. He's funny, intelligent, attractive, a good dresser, gainfully employed and, well, so normal. His family has money though, and Miss Kitty admits to being a reverse snob in that regard, which I think is just plain silly. It's just as bad as dumping an otherwise perfectly great guy because he is poor.

We were talking about this yesterday during Christmas dinner down at the pub. I asked her: wouldn't it be nice to go out with a solvent man for a change? One where you didn't have to finance the entire relationship? Maybe even get taken out to dinner now and again? I'm not advocating becoming some sort of gold digger, but honestly, employment is a Good Thing, don't you think?

She says she'll think about it.

That's assuming, of course, that Horatio is interested. I consider that a moot point, though, since I'm pretty positive he is.

I wonder if there's some way we could get a look at Horatio's mother before she decides. You never know, it might just be the deciding factor.