I have thought several times about becoming a drinker. You know, just toss one back once a day or once an hour or every time my glass is empty (like the drunken ex MIL.)
What would I drink…or not drink?
Beer comes in cans, bottles, glasses and apparently, cases. One time, Loser and I were going to #1s house and she asked us to pick up a case of beer on our way. Loser sent me in to get it of course. I just told him that #1 had asked us to get some beer.
When we got to #1s house, she looked at me and said “I asked you to get a case.” I said “this is a case, isn’t it?” She rolled her eyes and said “no, mom. That’s a six-pack.”
Well, hell. It was in a nice little case. It had two holes in the top for your fingers to carry it.
I think that was the last time she ever asked mom to buy beer and she was lucky that I actually did it that time.
When they were younger, I refused to buy beer for the Loser puppet. It annoyed him and he asked me why I wouldn’t do it. I said “because that cashier might think it’s for me.”
So, is beer for me? Um…have you ever really looked closely at a glass of beer? It looks like a severely dehydrated person peed in a glass…complete with foam. Now, if it’s a dark beer, it looks like that same severely dehydrated person peed in a glass and has a raging UTI. It even smells like somebody peed in a glass.
And, have you ever slept next to somebody who had beer breath? Talk about disgusting! I think I was the only teetotaler in the world who consistently woke up with a hangover.
Beer? For me? NO!
I have had lots of wine poured into my glass at a function or a dinner but Loser always drank it for me. Wine looks like grape juice, which I like but never drink…but it smells like somebodys’ feet. I couldn’t get it past my nose. Sometimes, the Loser puppet would say “just take a sip.” Right. That would be like licking my sons’ toes right after a soccer game.
I have also been known to pour five-hundred dollar bottles of wine down the drain. They were Christmas gifts and I figured by mid-January they had gone bad so I poured them out. Thank goodness, the Loser puppet didn’t pay much attention to anything that was going on.
Wine? Nah, I’ll pass.
I don’t know much about liquor. I know the Loser puppet liked Jack Daniels (whiskey, maybe?) When I think of whiskey, I think of dusty, old cowboys, stopping by a saloon for a drink and a poke.
Loser also liked this beautiful blue gin stuff. I’m not sure if the gin itself was blue or if the bottle was blue.
When I was 55, my daughters made me my first drink. It was cherry Vodka mixed with cherry 7-up. I will admit that it was pretty good. As long as it didn’t taste like booze, I could tolerate it, but back then, I would have much rather had a glass of milk.
Since I had broken my lifelong bonds of abstinence, the Loser puppet decided to make us a drink. I was out doing the yard work, while he read and went to the bathroom…the important things. I came in to sit under the fan for a minute because it was a hundred and eighty thousand degrees outside. He made us a piña colada.
Here’s where I might get into trouble, should I become a drinker. I scarfed that drink down like it was a cool, refreshing glass of water. He hadn’t even walked back to the kitchen before I said “that was good. Can I have another one?” He suggested that I wait, thankfully.
I recall being able to drive the Deere back into the garage. A few days later, I found the weed-wacker under a bush in the back yard. (Note to self. No drinking while doing yard work.)
I have the perfect lifestyle for drinking but as a former EMT, I know that the one thing you don’t do is drink alone. But…imagine. I could plop down on my sofa with my drinky-poo, watch television or a movie and just go “whee!”
I think I could afford it although I have no idea how much booze costs.
I also think about all the drunks that were in my life…that fucking former monster-in-law, the Loser puppet and my son.
Would I want to become them? Could I become them? Who would be around to warn me that I might be drinking too much? Even if the Loser puppet and I were still together, he would most likely treat me the same way his daddy treated his mama. Throw a blanket over her and pretend that she wasn’t passed out drunk on the floor.
Would it get to the place that, like my son, I would be willing to do anything for a drink? Would I be willing to steal?
I don’t know but I don’t imagine that would ever be the case. I just don’t have the gene or whatever it is, to enjoy or even be interested in drinking.
It never once occurred to me that the day I turned 21, I would have a drink and yes, had I been interested in drinking, I would have waited until it was legal.
I have promised my dear friend Deb, that I will have a drink with her when I visit Florida. As long as I don’t have to drive a car or a Deere or worry about where I put her yard tools, I should be okay.
So…to drink or not to drink. That is the question.