Bowling is this Saturday.
Unfortunately, since the birth of dear Lucy I have a problem with alcohol. Not that I drink too much. In fact, I hardly drink ever. I really only throw them back on bowling nights. And that, dear friends, appears to be my biggest problem.
I don't drink much at home. Maybe (BIG maybe) I'll have a glass of wine or a beer with Turbo on a Friday, when we've got something in the fridge that catches my eye. Then the calendar rolls over and that first Saturday of the month shows its delightful face. The huge bold letters B-O-W-L scream at me from across the room. Our night out, away from the kiddos, to enjoy a taste of the glory days.
We got out to dinner with some friends.
I drink a margarita. Yum. Make that 2.
We get to the bowling alley.
I have a beer. And another. Just one more.
I get hammered. Whoops.
I don't try to. Honestly, I don't even want to.
The alcohol hides, slowly tempting me into taking the bait by disguising itself in a delicious lime and strawberry swirled concoction. Peer pressure, in its finest form, makes me order more when everyone else at the table opts for another. On the lanes I reply 'sure' to the offer for a beer. I'm just hanging out, keeping pace with the rest of them. I'm in no danger of repeating last month.
Oh, but I am and I do. Any more than 2 drinks for me means a ruined game of bowling. A horrid Sunday headache. A laundry list of foolish antics.
This month, we have not yet made it to Saturday and my friends are harassing me.
Where should we eat? Will Ky be able to have a drink? Have one for us, Ky! Do you want to go to McDonalds so you can't start too early? Think you should start at home so you get the barfing out of the way before we start? A-holes. Every last one of them.
That of course, is why I love them. It is why I respond that I will carry a flask so I can drink anywhere we eat. Tell them I refuse to promise anything regarding my behavior. Try to get other stay-at-home moms to start drinking with me during the day.
The day will come when I can hold my liquor once again. Then those SOB's I call friends will have to find a new fool to entertain them. Then they will be sorry they pushed me to rebuild my tolerance so quickly. They'll miss the easily drunk me. They'll see.
4 comments:
The real question is which of us will be more drunk and disorderly Saturday, me or you?
I hope at least your friends are nice enough to leave their cameras at home. I don't think I will fare so well.
I would consider it a right of passage to be photographed during your bachelorette soirée. When you have free time I will bring you the photo album my lovely bridesmaids made for me. It is jam packed with photos of me, dressed head to toe in penis gear, drinking heavily with strangers and making a complete @$$ out of myself.
(Obviously not much has changed for me, other than my friends do leave the cameras at home now…)
you must have been trashed when you 'blogged' this, what the eff is bate?
In case she edits this later, she is part of the problem...spellcheck = SATAN
Dear Not a Moron,
At least bate is a real word. Looked it up. Spell check does not catch all of my mistakes, but I never professed that I was anything other than an overworked mom operating on very little sleep.
So, what's your excuse daoting dad?
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