AKA Mrs. Goody-two-shoes
So my aunt, with whom we are staying next week, asked me what kind of alcohol Hubba-hubba and I want to drink. I was somehwat taken aback, as neither of us drink that much and I wondered what kind of partying she was thinking we were going to do when the kiddos went to bed.
I should specify that Hubba-hubba actually used to drink quite a bit. He comes from a long and storied line of alcoholics on his father's side. When we were first starting to get to know each other, Hubba-hubba wasn't complete unless he was clutching a 40 ouncer. Hence one of the reasons I didn't like him much in the beginning.
I am a bit of a goody-goody and always have been. I have never, ever smoked a joint or a cigarette. Back when I was 22 or so, my friends and I would go clubbing or bar-hopping, and I would have about 2 or 3 drinks the entire night. I have never prayed to the porcelain god due to over-imbibing, and I have never had a hangover. From what I can tell, that is probably a good thing.
The closest I ever came to being drunk was in New Orleans. We went to a bar called Pat O'Brien's where they serve a famous drink dubbed the Hurricane. Now seriously, it seemed like I was just sipping Cool-Aid, this stuff was so fruity and smooth. I think I had 3 of them, and didn't realize I was a bit tipsy until I had to use the restroom. I guess I was a bit unsteady because a waiter asked me if I needed help, which of course I didn't think I did. To get to the bathroom at this particular place, you have to go up a rather rickety curving staircase. Suffice it to say, I had to clutch the railing the entire way up and especially down. But then, I realized I had had too much, and stopped drinking at that point.
You wanted me to say I fell down the stairs or something, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint. It was Hubba-hubba who crossed over the line, and who spent the rest of the night vomiting in the hotel bathroom. He ruined our last day there by needing the entire morning to recuperate, and because of him, I didn't get to go to the plantations. I still have not quite forgiven him for that.
Not to say that I don't enjoy the occasional drink, I do. I tend toward your typical girlie drinks, and if I have a beer, it must be a Heineken. I like wine, and I have no problem drinking champagne. Although complicating matters is a slight allergic reaction I have to alcohol, inherited from my mother. When I drink, I get ugly red blotches all over my face, neck, and chest. The stronger the drink, the brighter the blotches. It also seems the older I get, the more pronounced the reaction. Truly not a very attractive attribute.
So, I told my aunt to get me some tea, and I would be just fine. Ok, so maybe I said she could get some margarita mix if she really wanted to, but only because its going to be so hot. I need somthing to cool me off, ya know.
I should specify that Hubba-hubba actually used to drink quite a bit. He comes from a long and storied line of alcoholics on his father's side. When we were first starting to get to know each other, Hubba-hubba wasn't complete unless he was clutching a 40 ouncer. Hence one of the reasons I didn't like him much in the beginning.
I am a bit of a goody-goody and always have been. I have never, ever smoked a joint or a cigarette. Back when I was 22 or so, my friends and I would go clubbing or bar-hopping, and I would have about 2 or 3 drinks the entire night. I have never prayed to the porcelain god due to over-imbibing, and I have never had a hangover. From what I can tell, that is probably a good thing.
The closest I ever came to being drunk was in New Orleans. We went to a bar called Pat O'Brien's where they serve a famous drink dubbed the Hurricane. Now seriously, it seemed like I was just sipping Cool-Aid, this stuff was so fruity and smooth. I think I had 3 of them, and didn't realize I was a bit tipsy until I had to use the restroom. I guess I was a bit unsteady because a waiter asked me if I needed help, which of course I didn't think I did. To get to the bathroom at this particular place, you have to go up a rather rickety curving staircase. Suffice it to say, I had to clutch the railing the entire way up and especially down. But then, I realized I had had too much, and stopped drinking at that point.
You wanted me to say I fell down the stairs or something, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint. It was Hubba-hubba who crossed over the line, and who spent the rest of the night vomiting in the hotel bathroom. He ruined our last day there by needing the entire morning to recuperate, and because of him, I didn't get to go to the plantations. I still have not quite forgiven him for that.
Not to say that I don't enjoy the occasional drink, I do. I tend toward your typical girlie drinks, and if I have a beer, it must be a Heineken. I like wine, and I have no problem drinking champagne. Although complicating matters is a slight allergic reaction I have to alcohol, inherited from my mother. When I drink, I get ugly red blotches all over my face, neck, and chest. The stronger the drink, the brighter the blotches. It also seems the older I get, the more pronounced the reaction. Truly not a very attractive attribute.
So, I told my aunt to get me some tea, and I would be just fine. Ok, so maybe I said she could get some margarita mix if she really wanted to, but only because its going to be so hot. I need somthing to cool me off, ya know.
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