Following up on my last post, for the rest of my life commencing from my very own mother and sister’s onslaught of offers last night, I will be battling (victoriously) the nay sayers to my no drinking rule. Since my most effective argument as of yet had been they were in fact soliciting illegally, I have since lost my edge as of 12am on May 14th.
Rather, I ended the evening just as I had wanted in my old grandmotherly ways – had myself a mean English Breakfast – paired with those pretentious brown sugar cubes that served just well as the puny metal teapot that screamed picturesuqe as I was putting down my white napkin beside it upon leaving. Ah, satisfaction.
That was only after the smart word battle with my sister’s boyfriend about how much a particular white wine of nonsense German name tasted like apple juice. Sour apple juice, I added. Just like you would get when you leave a carton of milk in the fridge for another month. But of course, it’s just like apple juice to the T I said, and of course there is no underlay coaxing for a lie, so therefore no need to try myself.
I smile sheepishly at this thought and think that I might just as well have been tipsy on the night. Or just that I had seen the flash of my future years with this scene as the opening credit, and only human stupidity would veil that ongoing life struggle with silly endorphin’s.
The rest of the evening was uneventful in comparison. Bland even. What else could come up to par with alcohol seducing of a no longer minor?
So as we toast to each other, my glass of half emptied water to their Old fashioned and that German wine starting with a G, continuing with a ‘euqch’ or something to that liking, prompting a pronunciation of someone right before they retch, we say happy birthday.
I did have a moment of indecision though. Right before they gave up – for the next 10 minutes in striking deals of my ‘first sip’ – whether I should just get rip roaring drunk and have actions speak for themselves. Now, having never been there, only my fondly inappropriate imagination could be my friend. It was comforting to run through movie ideals of the worse type. I could first start chattering uselessly and try to hit on guys like that main character did in “He’s just not that into you.” But hell, they were all ‘main characters’, beautiful ladies. All of ’em. So either I’m saying I’ll get cheated on, be the one cheating, or have cringing encounters with the opposite sex. I mean, I ought to know now. My roommate’s cat does prefer to sleep on her bed over mine. And only mine when she closes the bedroom door. And he is a male. A proper representation of the entire male world, I think. Point taken. I might just pout on the profoundness of this realization, enough to induce a slew of lonesome a-few-years-too-early spinster tears that would bring about the confession of the tattoo I had just gotten during the day. Oh…no, don’t you mind the gooped up blood drying on the folded and taped paper at the bottom of my thigh. It don’t hurt so bad. Naw. And somehow along these lines, I began to become old schooled Texas. Or Mexican. Huh. Probably something ridiculous American, I’ll give you that much.
Instead, I put up with the damn camera flash until my eyes blinded and watered into what probably reflected to be Elephant eyes behind my glasses. Except I don’t have old people glasses – what, bifocals? – so they were probably just sad drowning Asian eyes underneath normally reflected eye glasses.
And I still wouldn’t understand the concept. $9 for some petite tall glass drink that’s probably less than 3 ounces altogether if you would just take out those exasperating bubbles. Compared to my luxurious tea? $3? And I’m the one accused of rigidity.
So happy 19th to myself.
This was Mother’s Day. Don’t mistake it. But if you were to be caught thinking my mother there in the middle was me, then at least you made someone deliriously happy. I won’t sing praises on how she undulated stretching out her hand to the gentlemanly main waiter that night, nor how she danced down the street to our car. I think my birthday dinner speaks enough for no alcohol.