Okay, this is starting to read like one of those grammar tests.
What I mean to say is, I’m not the kind of person who has a glass of wine with dinner every night. And this is not just because we’ve been eating in places that would serve it out of a box. I’ve just never been an every day drinker.
Well, even that’s wrong. I was an every day drinker for a period of time when my forced path of education suddenly ended and I was without a plan. But that wasn’t a glass of wine with dinner drinking. That was stupid, stupid youthful ‘because I know everything and am a grown-up now’ drinking. I was not and I did not.
My point is I don’t drink on a regular basis. And, as a result, I drink badly.
I’m not saying I miss my mouth or spill things – though that has happened. I’m saying, I don’t drink often so my body is not good at processing the booze. Husband says I just need eat beforehand. He thinks that I should stuff myself with bread products to absorb the liquor. But to me, that’s admitting you’re going to do really stupid things like those Jackass dudes. The bread is like putting a crash pad around your butt and jumping off a building into a nest of bees.
I’m never planning to drink so much I pin my high school drama teacher up against a wall twenty years after I’ve graduated and tell him he missed my greatest performance on stage ever and he should regret it. And despite Husband pulling me away, repeat the pining and the berating of the poor guy throughout the night. I’m never planning to run into the sliding glass door at full speed leaving the print of my forehead on the glass for all to see. I’m never planning to lie down on the ottoman in my friend’s house, after all the guests have gone home and the hosts are all sitting around in their PJ’s, and refuse to leave until Husband plays the ‘Bus Song’ on her pretty white piano. And then, once he has played the ‘Bus Song’ to the entire sleepy family, stand up, walk three feet and pass out in their foyer. That is never on the agenda when I get dressed for an evening out.
I went to a Hockey game last night. My friend and her husband are season ticket holders and gave me their seats when they couldn’t attend. (If she’s reading this, she’s likely freaking out right about now because what I’ve just written… ) But have no fear, Friend; there was no falling down or running into things or berating folks. I didn’t drink countless bottles of wine and then tell people they missed me when I was fabulous on stage. There was no singing -
Wait, I lie. There was a band at the intermission half time break thing and I sang along with them but quietly, under my breath.
Okay. That’s a lie too. I sang along with them very loudly but no one was listening – to me or to the band – so that doesn’t really count.
Anyway, I had two beers over the course of the game. Two weak watered down game beers and I am as foggy today as the weird horror movie weather outside. My throat is raw and shredded. I sound like Selma from the Simpsons. And my back and shoulders, heck, my whole body is tense and tight and in need of a deep tissue massage. I have no idea how people do this daily.
Of course it’s very possible my throat might be due to my screaming “GET IT IN THE HOLE!” as loud as I could and as often as I could during the game. And the tension could be because I got a ‘bit’ involved in the game and was trying to will the shots into the goal, ducking and weaving in my seat while I tensing every muscle to protect myself from all the sticks and wall slamming and the puck flying and stuff. It is possible the foggy brain is due to the fact that I think I relived the game in my sleep, shot for shot - only in my dreams, we won. With my help, of course.
What was my point? Oh, yes. I don’t drink.
And, apparently, I don’t play hockey either, only my body doesn’t know that.