Drunk December Mischief

I spent what little afternoon exists this late in the year barreling through white wine after white wine until well after the sun went down.  As the moon came up, I started doodling on cocktail napkins my drunken approximation of what I remembered of Wiles' proof of Fermat's Last Theorem.  Somehow this led to a fistfight, I think due to my disparagement of humanities degrees and/or of COBOL, and now that's a bar I'm no longer welcome at, so I headed for the next one.  As I did, I swore to complete the degree I drank myself out of so long ago if it took every penny I could steal, even though I knew and know there's little point at my age.  A storm boiled up, so I danced through taunting the lightning, a display in retrospect unwise, not due to any god's fury, but due to it costing me service at the second bar.  Now miles from home and unwilling to walk to the next bar down in the rain, I went instead to the apartment of an old "friend," in whose bed the wine whispered to me I might as once before stay, but I found the wine to be a liar.  Nonetheless, I was allowed a towel, a bit of Jameson and a soft chair in which to dream of figgy puddings for the coming season.