I realized the other night that alcohol gives me super powers


Carl and I went out to dinner the other night because of this. Without kids. We basically won the lottery, but without the money.

Getting ready for dinner at 3.45pm for a 5.30pm dinner reservation is something you get used to when you’ve got kids and an 80-something-year old at home. If you go out past 8pm, they turn into zombies and make a mess in the house. And I hate to clean. Maybe I should rephrase that – they make the house even messier.

I shaved my legs and remembered to shave my armpits because damn it all if Carl wasn’t gonna get some (which he didn’t by the way because the baby woke-up in the middle of Game of Thrones and then I fell asleep with the baby monitor nuzzled against my boob). it was the right thing to do.

We rushed out of the house and were on our way!

When we arrived at the restaurant which is inside of the Hard Rock Casino, the valet opened my door and I realized I could barely walk in my 5.5″ heel, platform shoes. What was I thinking wearing these shoes? I definitely wasn’t thinking about how I could possibly break my neck or anything. The valet put his hand out to help, but his hair was greasy and he didn’t look like the type to wash his hands after going to the bathroom ever. I pulled myself out of the car and latched onto Carl’s arm as quickly as I could before toppling over.

Besides the shoe fiasco, the Spanx that took me almost 40 minutes to huff-and-puff into was seriously cutting off air and blood circulation.

I was going to fall and pass out before the evening was over.

Somehow, I managed to get into the restaurant and seated without making a total ass of myself.

My feet felt like they’d gotten caught in a bear trap, so I discretely took them off under the table. Carl looked at me funny and asked are you alright? and I said of course and he said why are you making that constipated face? and I was like, ugh. I’m fine. Just get me a drink. 

I should also mention there was a man sitting 15 feet away who looked older than the Grim Reaper and who was giving me some inappropriate winks. His wife, Mrs. Grim Reaper, was also winking at me.

But my lemon drop martini with Grey Goose vodka arrived and I quickly ignored the couple. Soon after food arrived and soon after that, my second martini.

By the time our meal was finished, I. Felt. Great. I started winking back at Mr. & Mrs. Grim Reaper.

We wandered around the casino floor. I was struttin’ my stuff. The shoes were no longer a problem. Why don’t I wear Spanx more often? I don’t know why I thought I couldn’t breathe earlier. My body looked like it did BEFORE I had kids. People stared at me and I couldn’t help but smile a little. Probably wondering how Carl landed such a hottie, I thought.

We settled on a slot machine and put in $40 – we’re big spenders. At one point I was up by $45, but in the end we ended up breaking even.

It was a great ni…

Carl: What are you doing?

Me: Writing.

Carl: I can see that, smart-ass. What about?

Me: Last night. I think I’m gonna have a martini or two every night.

Carl: Uh, why?

Me: It’s cheaper than a shrink, right?

Carl: [silence and then] You’re logic is really surprising sometimes.

Me: Did you see those shoes I wore? I was walking in them like I was some runway model. And my dress looked amaze-balls on me. And we broke even at the slots and…

Carl: Let me just stop you right there, Lady Gaga. You were able to walk only because you were leaning your whole body on me. People thought you had a broken leg or something because you kept walking with this strange limp.

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Carl: AND you kept taking in big gulps of air and pulling up your Spanx and fidgeting in your dress – it looked like you were having a seizure.

Me: Were we even at the same place?

Carl: AND we didn’t break even. You took all the cash form my wallet and spent it all.

Me: That’s just you’re prerogative.

Carl: It’s fact.

That’s the last time I take Carl anywhere.

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