So it's Thursday morning... and I finally got a comb through my hair..... I"m staring in the mirror looking at the person applying mascara getting ready for another job interview.. thinking.. WHO ARE YOU??????
Last Friday started off like any other. Dropping the kids off to spend the weekend with their dad and driving with my oldest into the city for grown up shenanigans. I have to get a dress for a party Saturday night. So I enlist the help of my 20 year old. She picks out a blue dress and red fishnet tights to go with my 3 inch grey sexy strappy shoes. I hesitate. This is so not what I would have picked. She assures me its okay. This isnt the 80's and we are NOT supposed to match. So I go with it. Little did I realize I am dressed pretty much like superman.
I then take my daughter out for an early dinner, fried squid.. and lemon drop martinis. The martinis are for me. Two. The platter of tentacles is for her. About 30. I get a little tipsy.. yes.. on two martinis. Lightweight here.
My daughter drops me off at my final destination and takes my van for the weekend. Nobody needs a car in Chicago. I tell her, don't be stupid STUPID. She tells me to shut up. She's not an idiot.
A few hours later deep into my kidsless weekend and my deabauchery, I get a call from a frantic boyfriend.. telling me SHE is in jail. And my mini van was impounded. There is nothing I can do at this point except suggest to my friend that we go out for MORE drinks. Because afterall, isnt that what a repsonsible parent does? Especially one venturing out on her new found life... slash.. freedom? So I have some more cocktails in a little matchbox bar. I believe they were margaritas. Rimmed with powdered sugar. Best ones I have ever HAD!! And specially made for me by the bartender who pulled out her boob (just one) two times. It did make a perfect pair. That' s pretty much all I remember about that pit stop. And I sorta forgot all about my daughter's dilema. I figured two twenty year olds can figure out how to get out of the mess they got in.
Fast forward to next day... driving in my friends brand spanking new car that has less than 50 miles on it... I warned him I wasnt feeling well. Hangovers are NOT A MADE UP AILMENT. They are real. And they make you projectile vomit almost instantly. So I grab the only available thing in sight. A paper floor mat that came with the car. And I prayed and sweated that I could keep the mess to a minimum on the paper floor mat as he is driving 65 miles an hour. I did very well. Not a drop spilled. Okay, there might have been a little in my hair. Gross huh?
I make it through the day. With no alcohol. And this is not that easy to do since I am at yet another bar downtown where there are shopping carts being raced around by bozo the clown, cookie monster and Devo! And the beer was flowing freely. What better way to help the hunger but to have a grocery cart race with pit stops at different bars all around the city? (NOTE TO SELF, so doing this next year!) But my stomach remembers the pain so I volunteer to be the DD and pour 40 ounce after 40 ounce for my friend. I want to stay sober the whole day until I hear for sure that my van has been ransomed and my daughter is stuck at home and out of her prison stripes.
Fast forward again to Saturday night. I am wearing my superman outfit. Looking pretty fly, for a hungover as *#*$ 45 year old mother of 3. Then I realize... I should not be wearing those red fishnet hose unless I mean business. Because apparently they scream out to all the bosses wives, yes I am a horny housewife! And I want to have a threesome. I need to remember this next time I put them on. I manage to get through the night without getting too violated. Unless you call having your dress being lifted up and your ass and boobies grabbed violated. I havent decided yet.
Sunday was perfect. Sleeping til almost noon. Much needed and wanted sleep. Then a nice little lunch at a hidden away little gem. It was a wonderful Polish restaurant, well, wonderful except for the waiter who wouldn't let us order what WE wanted. I tried starting off with the tomato soup. No. He wouldn't let me. He made me eat the cabbage soup. He also made me order something I couldn't even pronounce. As he was in the back we could hear the polish language being loudly strewn around. And when we got a glimpse into the kitchen, we saw the cook waving a knife at someone and when he saw us staring at him, he waved with his other hand. I am SO eating anything they tell me too! It was very delicious. Despite the NO SOUP FOR YOU attitude.
Now its monday. No wait, it's thursday. How did this happen? I managed to get the kids to school on time all week. The red van is back in the driveway. My twenty year old is a free woman. And I finally managed to get a comb through my hair like I told you at the begining of my story. And pretend all of this never happened. Only you and I know, lets keep it that way until I figure out what I want to do with these red tights!
I'm so glad the only fun I will be having this weekend involves a school fun fair and hostess cupcakes with my kids. My hair can't take another non mom weekend!
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