These days, I seem to be going to a 40th birthday party at least every season or so, and last weekend was no exception. The birthday boy was apparently conceived at the original Woodstock, so the birthday theme was late 60’s, early 70’s inspired. Nothing like getting dressed up in psychedelic outfits and Farrah wigs in front of regular people to start a stampede of drinks flowing. I matted up my hair, put on a headband, a crocheted top and bell bottom jeans. For an authentic look, I also went bra-less, and held up the girls with a little 3M scotch tape (it really is magic!)
There must have been 50 of us who stepped into that hot tub time machine that night, but I only remember the first bottle of wine, a lovely Mezzacorona Pinot Grigio from Italy. I remember going to the bar to order a round of shooters but then my memory escapes me. I woke the next morning with a bucket beside my bed, splatters of yuck here and there, naked except for the scotch tape and my underwear.
Friends have filled in a few hilarious details for me – riding a railing, trying to cozy up to and sing with the band – but the barf bucket tells the rest of the story. I don’t feel that I’m an alcoholic, although I certainly think I may have acted a lot like Sandra Bullock’s character in 28 days, right before she checked into rehab (except for the drunk driving part). And I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve done this a few times this past year alone. That statistic is the sobering one. This mommy thinks wine play dates are her salvation some days, but now the mere smell sickens me.
I don’t want to go to rehab, no no no, so let’s hope it sticks this time.
Love Lucie