Okay, fine. Maybe you always drink responsibly and have never polished off an entire bottle of cheap champagne by yourself because you thought it would be lovely to have berries and bubbly on a Saturday afternoon when your kids are napping, but your husband says it “tastes bitter” to him so you’re all “woo hoo, more for me,” and before you know it everything he says is reeeeally funny and charming, and then at your friend’s you drop an entire roll of paper towels into the sink.
Fine, you’ve never done that.
Um, me either.
[furtively glances about]
So then. Uhhh. . . New Subject!
Have you ever woken up with a strange, unexplained pain somewhere? In college we called them MPIs (Mystery Party Injuries) when you found some bruise on your shoulder you couldn’t remember getting, or when you vaguely recalled bashing your foot against something but it didn’t hurt very much at the time (after a half a pitcher of Bud Light) but now you can’t put any weight on it.
The knuckle on my right ring finger started hurting Sunday morning. Do you think I’m developing arthritis?
Wait, maybe this isn’t a new subject after all.
Here are some injuries I can explain:
1. Bump pointed to something on the walk to Aunt Bob’s, and while looking at it I clipped his ankle hard enough to take off his shoe. He limped behind me and the stroller the rest of the way.
2. I tripped coming up the stairs last night while taking out the recycling. I landed with my full body weight on my left arm against the edge of the stair. For a minute, I was sure I had broken my ulna.
Come to think of it, these things are all related. I was operating the stroller after the cheap champagne and before dropping a whole roll of paper towels in the sink. And the recycling was full because of an empty bottle of cheap champagne.
That does it. From now on, only expensive champagne for me.
Nobody half-asses it like me.
4 comments:
The night I graduated from high school I had about, oh, ten beers in two hours. And at one point I was smoking a cigarette and holding the lit cig kind of over my shoulder in between drags. Unbeknownst to me, it was burning the face of our class president. But he was too drunk to notice it at first too. Whoops! Sorry, Aaron!
Right, the good stuff ought to do the trick.
You were drinking and strollering? That would have been one wild ride.
And as for my drinking? Try 17 scotches in two hours when I went to a law ball with my awful ex-ex-ex-EX-(and never should have been)-boyfriend. I didn't actually start throwing up until 3pm the next day...
Yes. Always drink the good stuff.
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