No, I’m not man enough to drink less than the rest of the boys.
But I wish I had.
Now, the only “boy” I was drinking with was my husband.
Last Wednesday, we had gone to the local “Improv” to watch one of my co-workers who is a very talented stand-up comic.
Let me say here that I don’t drink often. In fact, it verges on “rarely”.
The opportunity just does not present itself that often.
The last time I had a drink was at a big family dinner two years ago.
I wanted an Apple Martini. I had never even had a regular Martini before.
They were good.
I had three.
I do believe that was two more than I probably should have had, but I was able to walk a straight line to the car.
I giggled the whole way, but I was able to walk it.
I was not going to repeat that mistake this time.
I had one Apple Martini.
Now the club had a two item minimum. So I ordered a B-52 (the drink, not the group).
I have no idea what is in a B-52 but it was hot and had whipped cream and a cherry on top.
It was good.
My husband was exercising his option of nursing a Bud Light in view of his status as a diabetic.
One Bud Light.
Except he had a two-item mimimum.
So I ordered another B-52 to assist him in reaching his minimum goal of two items.
He said I should “nurse” this one.
So I did:
- I assessed the drink, specifically the amount of whipped cream applied and the angle of the cherry.
- I planned how best to drink the fluid, particularly how to do so without getting a whipped cream moustache as “number two” did not come with a straw.
- I intervened and drank the warm, somewhat intoxicating fluid.
- I evaluated the drink.
It was good. Really good.
I began giggling.
Did I mention that the show had not even started yet?
The next morning I felt like I had been hit upside the head with a two-by-four and all my intercostal muscles were aching.
You know that troop surge the President was talking about?
It felt like twenty thousand US Marines had surged into my stomach.
And their Drill Instructor wouldn’t shut up.
“Gee honey, I must have laughed really hard last night, my chest muscles are aching and I feel like I’m moving in slow motion.” I mentioned to my husband.
“Kim, I hate to tell you this, but you are having a hang-over.”
“I am not! I only had one Apple Martini!”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and about six different varieties of alcohol in those two ‘coffees’ you drank.”
“Are you saying I was drunk?”
“Well, let’s put it this way. We were at a Comedy Club and you were laughing hysterically before the show even started.”
Well, excuuuuuuuse me!
I post this only as a public service announcement to drink responsibly.
You would think someone my age, someone who is so close to fifty she can touch it, would know her alcohol tolerance.
Oh well. Anyone want to join me in a rousing chorus of “Love Shack”?