I traded scrapbooking for Johnny Walker

My shoes are trashed.    But somehow I didn’t spill my BIG GULP.

I am waking up to a beautiful view of Lake Michigan on a bright Saturday morning.  A sailboat in the distance.  People running with their dogs 20 floors below me.   I stand up from my friends most comfortable couch, and then it hits me.  You know.  That nauseating, can’t stand up straight feeling you get from WAY TOO MUCH to drink.   I run for the bathroom.  He has lived there only two weeks and I am sure he wouldn’t appreciate me christening his wood floors with last nights Johnny Walker.

Yes.  I am a woman.  And YES, I drink this.

Why does my friend have NO garbage cans?  NOT ONE!  How does a man live without a garbage can in the bathroom?  Its a mystery to me.  Almost as big a mystery as the fact that he has NOTHING to drink.  I opened his fridge to get a coke, a sprite, some juice, a bottled water, basically ANYTHING.. and all there was sitting all alone on the top shelf, was a bottle of A1.  That’s all.   Not one styrofoam box filled with a half eaten meal from the day before.  Nada.  Zilch.  Nil.

I glance at the glass table and notice my BIG GULP cup full of melted ice.  Slurp.  Slurp.  Slurp.  Gotta find the advil.

My friend finally emerges from his slumber. He comes out of his room  in cut off jean shorts and a toucan t-shirt.   He just looks at me and shakes his head.   I need to tell him he should be looking int he MIRROR and shaking his head.   He wants to know why I was walking like a concubine with bound toes for the last 2 hours of our “pub crawl”.   I want to tell him it’s because we took a cab to the bar we went to, but for some reason we didn’t hop in a single cab on the way home.  That’s why.  My feet were hurting.  I was doning 5 inch heels.  And I was COLD.  It seems to me if our destination was far enough to cab it getting there, it should be far enough to cab it to get home.  Am I wrong for thinking this?

He proceeds to tell me how I fell down about 8 times within a two block distance and how I couldn’t get into an after hours bar.   The one EVERYBODY gets into.   I hang my head in shame.  Once again.  He also tells me of the egg salad sandwich I ate within 2 minutes of leaving the 7-11.    I don’t even like egg salad.

I am not sure what is going on with me. Gone are the days of scrapbooking for hours on a friday night.

This new behavior sounds like the 20 something me, not the mature mother of 3 that  I am.    I have to get a grip on myself.  I need to realize I can’t keep up with the boys when we go drinking.  I need to realize I am not a man and I need to stop drinking like one.   I need to realize that when my kids leave me for the weekend to go with their dad, I don’t need to revert to acting like a kid.   Or a boy.

Just like my friend needs to realize he is not a woman.. and needs to quit dressing like one.   Come on, real men don’t wear cut offs!!   Buy a garbage can and put those where they belong!!    And call Peapod.   They can bring you something to go with that A1!

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