Home » randomness » My Big, Fat Norwegian-Spanish Drinking Story

My Big, Fat Norwegian-Spanish Drinking Story

So you might have wondered where I’ve been.

(Or not?)

Last week, I was just tired. And uninspired. So I had neither the energy nor the subject matter to share.

I’m better now.

I think the combination of the unbearable heat, early morning swim team practice, weekend trip to The Middle of Nowhere, Texas, and – as I later discovered – allergies just did me in.

But, like I said, I’m better now.

While I’m thinking about it, as an aside here, I’d like to reiterate Rule Number One from the Kingdom of Stywom: Do not discipline another parent’s child in the presence of that parent. You just don’t do it. I’m just sayin’.

Around Tuesday of last week following the weekend frivolity of The Middle of Nowhere, I was blaming my exhaustion on the wretched heat – then not enough sleep – then all the frivolity. Finally I remembered that twice in the last six months, two of my children were miraculously cured from their exhaustion with a single dose of allergy medication. Amazing how that happens. Stupid allergies.

So I popped a Zyrtec, and a few hours later, I was good to go. Or at least functional.

Fast forward to Friday night. We had booked our favorite babysitter and her new husband and scheduled a date night. Theoretically, it was my job to plan the date, but I still didn’t have the energy for planning. So I volleyed that one right back to Michael. Sorry, honey.

(Oooohhhh, you have no idea just how sorry.)

That afternoon, before he tells me where we are going, I pop another Zyrtec. So I’d have the energy for The Date.

And, by the way, I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

Babysitter and New Hubs arrive to much fanfare and joyous celebration, Michael and I get in the Loser Cruiser, and leave for our big night out. He informs me that we’re going to a wine tasting – something cool and new and adventurous. OK, that’s sounds fun. Let’s go.

(Do ya see where this is headed?)

We go into this wine bar and sit down at a nice table outside – this was the one night out of the entire summer that it wasn’t miserably hot and was actually quite pleasant outside – and order our “flight” (apparently this is what a sampling of wine is called) and some deeee-lish bruschetta and fruit. We’re enjoying the food and the wine and the conversation.

(“Hi, I’m Jennifer…you look familiar…didn’t I marry you?”)

Now a few important facts to remember:

1. I weigh 10 pounds less than I should.

2. While I enjoy the occasional alcoholic beverage, I’m not a regular drinker. Total lightweight.

(Michael and I both, having been a good little Baptist boy and girl, didn’t drink anything until we were out of college and quite possibly married. I can’t remember. But we were very, very straight-laced. And we know very little about the whole drinking thing. Not at all opposed. Just ignorant.)

3. Even when you share a flight at this particular wine bar, you drink the equivalent of roughly two glasses of wine. They’re generous that way.

4. I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

And most importantly,

5. I had a full dose of allergy medication in my skinny little body.

Round about Sample #2, I am feeling a little lightheaded. Sample #3, sleepy. Sample #4, oh sweet Lord get me out of here. Sample #5, I hope I can walk to the bathroom without falling over.

We pay the bill, walk to the car, and drive to the restaurant for our actual dinner. My seat is leaned back and my eyes are closed for the entire drive, and when we get there, I need just another minute. Please. I need to sit here and close my eyes.

No. Actually I need to lay down. Right now.

So I climb over the console between the two front seats of the Loser Cruiser, and I lay down on the floor. I just need to lie down for a minute.

(Feel free to laugh at me. It won’t hurt my feelings. I deserve a good chuckle. I am lying On. The. Floor. Of my van.)

Michael asks me if I would rather go to the back bench seat and lay there. Thinking of all the smashed raisins and goldfish and spilled juice boxes and melted crayons and whoknowswhatelse, I reply, “No, that’s gross.”

(Because lying on the floor of your minivan is so much more sanitary.)

After a half an hour of lying on the well-troddened floor, I have achieved the adequate equilibrium required to walk into the restaurant. Thankfully, it is late enough that the restaurant isn’t very crowded and there is no wait – so we sit right down, order WATER, SWEET WATER! OH BLESSED WATER!, and our food.

I just want to go to bed. I don’t even care if I’m in my clothes. I can brush my teeth in the morning. I just want to go to sleep. Right now. Please.

I manage to swallow a single fish taco, make it back into the Sanitarymobile, and get home. By that time, I was feeling alert enough to carry on a conversation with Sitter & Hubs and yes, actually change my clothes and brush my teeth…but LESSON LEARNED.

Zyrtec, good. Wine tasting, good. Zyrtec + wine tasting = baaaaad. Very, very bad.

(How’s that for energy and subject matter? You’re welcome.)

The end.


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