oh, the humanity.

I rarely drink. It's true.

Okay, that is a complete and utter lie. Well, kind of. Let me explain.

Aside from the blur that made up my college years thru my very EARLY twenties (I gave birth at the age of 23, people), I drink at the occasional social event. Weddings, birthdays, BBQs, baptisms, funerals, anniversaries.

Wow, that sounds like a lot, right? But, it's really not. Really. And, if I do partake in a random cocktail it is usually, (usually) one, maybe two. The past several years, like 8, really haven't afforded that many opportunities to drink myself into oblivion, nor have I found much of a reason to.

* I am not even going to discuss Bunko at Mrs. K's house last year. We are not even going to think about it. But, for those of you that were there, what you witnessed is HIGHLY unusual, there really was an owl that almost attacked Mrs. Lewis and I, and I maintain what I said about Matt H.*

Where was I?

Oh, yes. So, tonight, I decide to crack the pink champagne (how delightfully low-class of me) that I purchased to ring in the New Year. Remember...I was barfing that day. From a virus, not the drink. I poured myself a glass. I even cut it with some OJ. I mean, everyone's homework was done, dinner was cooking, house was picked up, why not? I gave the noodles a stir, and...

Crash.

There went my mimosa. Glass everywhere, sticky orange juice running down the cabinets. It was a mess.

I guess I was just not meant to have bubbly. Tonight, anyway.

Whatever.