One night in college I was hanging out late at night with my boyfriend and bunch of his friends. With nothing better to do and only a deck of cards and a bottle of tequila at our disposal, we made up a drinking game, aptly titled “Chug That,” which at the time we thought was rather witty.
Sad, isn’t it?
Anyways, the rules of the game couldn’t have been more simple. Each person took a turn as a dealer; while the players would each get to guess the face value of the card at the top of the deck. If the dealer revealed the card that had been guessed, then they did a shot. And around and around we went.
I remember the room filling up with laughter as we each took our turns. I also remember realizing that everyone but me was counting the cards. This is what you get when you play cards with a bunch of guys from MIT. Well, that and a lot of conversation revolving around Dungeons and Dragons, but that’s another story.
Near the end, I remember thinking as I perched on my bar stool and tipped the bottle back yet again, that I was surprised at how great I felt considering the amount of alcohol I had imbibed. In fact, I felt wonderful. Carefree. Totally in control. Yipee.
You see what’s comin’ don’t you?
I then, of course, hit the wall, or more appropriately, the floor after falling from my stool. A “major ouchie” as I’m fond of saying nowadays. Then, things started to get really hazy.
Not long after that I gave up trying to sit on the stool; but quickly learned that standing wasn’t my strong suit either. Another shot later, I began to reconsider the necessity of staying on my feet all together. Just way too much exertion.
Ahhhh, college. Those were the good ol’ days.
I want you to know that I’ve officially reached my Parental Tequila Moment.
The hubs hasn’t had a day off in almost three weeks and I've been trying to hang in there, running to playdates, playgroups and playgrounds with energy and efficiency.
(Dear readers, I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that this my excuse for not posting or visiting your sites lately. This and the fact that I’m officially hooked on Laurell Hamilton
’s Vampire Novels as of late.)
I even whipped up dinners with one child slung on my hip while the other careened at incredible speeds through the kitchen, all while screaming at the top of her lungs.
I then hit the wall.
Actually, I hit the bathroom, using it like an escape pod, kinda like that Jodie Foster movie, “Panic Room.” I even took a glass of wine and book in there with me and then proceeded to sit on the toilet for over twenty minutes.
Sure, my legs were numb by the time I peeled myself off the seat, but I was done. Exhausted. Couldn’t take anymore.
So, as I stood looking in the mirror, listening to sounds screeches and little feet running past my door, I realized that it may have been over a decade since that Tequila burned down my throat, but some things never change.
When you hit that unexpected wall, in the end, you always end up in the bathroom.
At least this time it won’t be a splitting headache or the faint smell of vomit to arouse me in the morning, but a preschooler with her favorite stuffed lobster
and love of Golden Grahams cereal at the crack of dawn.