AKA: My husband is the bomb diggity.
*Note: extremely embarrassing admission below. Don't judge me, beyotches!*
So, I have Wednesdays off. Lately I've been using this day to catch up with friends who also have the day off, or whose jobs are so flexible (read: self-employed) that they can sneak off to hang with the Bevster mid-week. Well, yesterday I was actually double-booked; I had plans to meet my friend Laurie for lunch and then we were going to go see
Confessions of a Shopaholic (total chick fest, but we've both read the craptacular novel and like fancy brand names that we can't afford). I was planning to toddle on over to Sarah's place to chill with her and her little son for an hour or two after the movie.
Well, the best-laid plans, and all that.
Laurie and I went to a restaurant called La Carreta and ordered up a couple of big-ass frozen margaritas and some lunch. The food was good, the drink was good, and the conversation was SO good that we talked right through the movie. Oops! That was our first mistake, because then... well, we decided to have another drink.
Bad move.
I'm convinced that somebody slipped me a freakin' mickey or something, because I was
floored. I've had two drinks at lunch before (shocking, I know) and never had such a crazy reaction. We went back to Laurie's place and were sitting on her couch when I suddenly got the spins and had to make myself acquainted with her bathroom tout de suite. Lovely tile in there, btw. Very intricate pattern. Aaaanywhooo.
From my little porceline coccoon, I hear my cell phone ring and recognize that it's DH's ringtone (Cake's "Love You Madly." Awwww). I hear Laurie talking to him, and I manage to croak out, "I need a riiiiiiide."
So, my Knight in Shining Honda showed up to drive my drunk ass home. I texted Sarah a few mea cuplas and then went to bed for several hours and slept off whatever evil tequila-based concoction was left in my system.
Later that night, we drove back to Laurie's house to retrieve my car. Through all of this, my darling husband was a complete gentleman. He doesn't judge, he doesn't tease, he's just completely as cool as Fonzie and twice as handsome. ;) Laurie was asking if he'd be pissed, and I was like, "Hell, no!" I'm so glad I was right.
Of course, I'm sure if I made a habit of getting trashed midweek (off of
two motherhumping drinks, no less!), we'd have issues. But, I have no intention of hitting the hard stuff again for quite some time. Ugh. At least with wine, I know my limit. Long live the rule of 3!
So, there you have it. Feel free to laugh at me. I know that I am laughing at myself... through my tears of extreme embarrassment, that is. Eesh.
