Monday, June 26, 2006

This Calls For A Dry Spell.

I drank too much on Saturday night. Sunday was a recovery day.

I was at the Confed Centre until about midnight, when Lynda kindly drove me to Carolyn's house for a party. At the Confed, I only had one drink, so at Carolyn's, tango dancing with the diminutive Rebecca didn't seem terribly risky. But then all 5' of her tried to dip all 6' of me. I went down hard into a coffee table, and now have a painful-yet-impressive bruise on my right hip. It's the colour of eggplant. About the size of eggplant, too, now that I think about it.

Anyhow, the point is, it was physics and geometry that brought me down, and not my one Confederation Centre (too-dry) Manhattan.

Then I started drinking rum and cokes (rums and coke?) that were probably a little too strong, because by 4:30am, I was praying at the altar of my nightly post.

So, be it resolved, that I'm going to be a little smarter about my intake of intoxicants for the summer.

2 comments:

marilyn said...

Oh, my poor older sister has yet to learn the tried and true method of Sweet drinking.
Drink to three...then let it be. No that's not three in the morning, it's three drinks. If you have three you will be fine the next day, four and your chancing a head-ache, five and over and you are in bad shape the next day. I think our metabolic rate is slower than everyone elses (hense the Butt-butt that we inherited) and we just want to keep up, but alas, we are doomed to be cheap drunks. Let this be a lesson to you!

mel said...

I am jealous of your cheap drinking ways. It costs money to be a tank!