My mom always said that I would find my guardian angel when I needed him the most. What she didn't say was that I would find him drunk under a table at the pub last Thursday. It was last call and I was cleaning the tables in the far corner. Something knocked on the underside of the table.
"Hey, you," I leaned down to look under the table. He reeked of rum. "Yeah, you, do you believe in angels?" His speech slurred as he crawled out from under the table. Was he seriously trying that pick-up line on me?
"Not really," I went back to cleaning while he stumbled into a chair and sat down unceremoniously.
"This gonna be a lot harder if you don't believe me," He put his elbows on the table and pointed a finger at me and rested his chin in his other hand. That wasn't enough to keep his head up. He then promptly sat up. "I am," He put both hands on his chest and patted it. "Your guardian angel." He grinned at me
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," I turned away and called to the bartender, "This one needs a cab."
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