My Tangle With A Margarita
Monday, May 18, 2009 at 06:40PM The proceeding account is written to demonstrate one of the rare times the Mayor was wrong (see my 95% right track record in the sidebar). Names have not been changed to protect the innocent, because clearly it was totally my fault and a rare display of total foolishness. Yes, I am totally tattling on myself!
It began as a typical Sunday. Got up, had some coffee, went to church. I had unpacked a moving box that has been hidden in my garage for a few years and was so excited to unearth one of my favorite pairs of Cole Haan brown suede pumps I decided to wear a skirt this morning. It is mid May in Michigan and it looked so sunny outside I thought it was unlikely that I would freeze.
We ran by the grocery store on the way home because I needed a jalapeno pepper for the pasta salad I was making and a bag of limes. Not only did I need to juice 2 limes for my the pasta salad I needed some lime juice and 6 thin slices of limes for a margarita recipe I have been trying to perfect for an upcoming party. When we arrived home my younger daughter (who had played hooky from church) was doing homework and had my favorite boy (that would be Justin Timberlake or JT for short) blasting out over the speakers.
Talk about pushing your mother’s buttons (in a good way for a change). We danced around the kitchen putting the groceries away. I got the pasta going and chopped up all the veggies including the aforementioned jalapeno pepper. I thinly sliced up a lime for our margarita experiment. Sashaying around that kitchen in my swingy skirt and Cole Haan heels just put me in such a celebratory mood that I decided to make a batch of margaritas as soon as Miss C the pastry chef came in from work.
I made the most luscious Margaritas with all fresh ingredients. I even made some simple syrup to add to balance the bitter aftertaste I had disliked on the first (and more sensible) experiment. We flicked on the Red Wings game (game 1 in the Stanley Cup playoffs against the Chicago Blackhawks) and sipped some superior cocktails. The game was pretty exciting, Blackhawks scoring against our beloved Red Wings and we were all boo-hisss. Hurry up, call Pricess #1 and the Prince who were deeply embedded in enemy territory, watching the game on the big screen in Alexa’s Chicago apartment. What makes it especially scary is that Alexa’s family is very connected to the Blackhawks so I wasn’t kidding when I said it was enemy territory.
Of course my little angels loyally cheered for the Detroit team, so we got a wee bit carried away texting each other back and forth during the game, mostly making disparaging remarks about the Blackhawk players. My dear sister in law had come in towards the end of the game. She had a taste of our primo margaritas and made a compelling argument for another batch to be made. Being the good host, carried along on game excitement, I whipped up another batch and that’s when the afternooon took a turn for the worse.
We couldn’t tear ourselves away from the game to go eat our proper dinner so we kept sipping along on our Margaritas. Very poor choice on my part as I had not had anything to eat and I am typically a pretty lightweight drinker. As tantillizing as these Margaritas were I’m sure they were meant to be consumed along side some industrial strength mexican food.I managed to snack on a little bit of chips and salsa as we got a bit rowdy for the game and continued our caustic texting into enemy territory. I should have known I was headed for trouble when I found it progressively more difficult to communicate by text, but I didn’t take heed of that not so subtle clue.
Before we knew it the game was over and the Wings won 4-2. My sister in law wanted to drive me by a house she was interested in so I hopped in her car and we took a quick tour. Soon I was feeling very spinny and queasy. Oh I hate that feeling! At my age, as a pillar of responsibility I should not have let this happen. It was not intentional, but it was shameful to get into such a state of dishevelment.
Back home, I made my way into a big chair in the family room, thinking if I just sit still here this will go away. Close your eyes, nope, that’s a mistake. Keep them open, don’t move.
This is a losing battle. Then something happened. I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the chair, right in front of the whole gang. Is that the same thing as passing out? I am not sure because this has never happened to me in my whole life. Passing out after 3 Margaritas? Somewhere along the line my gang dispersed and went about their business. My cell phone (in my pocket) kept ringing but went unanswered. Probably my cohorts from Chicago calling to discuss the aftermath of the hockey game.
I don’t know what shocked them more, that their mother was undeniably overserved or that she was sleeping in the middle of the family room in broad daylight. I’ll probably never be able to live this one down. When I reached a state of being half awake, but still afraid of opening my eyes or moving, I heard an argument escalating with three girls yelling at each other to be quiet and not wake “her” up. I gathered some courage and moved a few steps to lay down on the couch.
By this time I’m wondering how long I can lie there pretending to sleep while watching Desperate Housewives on the down low through one slitted eye. It was kind of nice to be out of pocket, no one making any demands.They actually managed to stay pretty quiet. I could hear several people tapping away on keyboards, an occasional giggle, some shooshing every now and then. Some one had the presence of mind to cover up their sotted mum with a nice soft blanket. My cell phone kept ringing in my pocket, but I still couldn’t answer it or they’d realize I was awake.
Finally, I couldn’t take the being still thing any longer. Plus I kept thinking of the things I really needed to be attending to (laundry, bills, getting organized for the monday morning rush). I got up to go about my business, feeling not so good but able to suck it up and keep on moving. I had a small bowl of cereal hoping to make up for drinking alcohol without the eating. I managed to get things done and get to bed without getting sick. I basically just willed myself not to because I loathe throwing up.
The peanut galley has been blessedly silent for most of the day. I was sure I’d get some phone calls berating me for being such a baby when it comes to drinking, so easily reaching the point of no return. I was almost disappointed no one was harassing me until I got this message from my son in Chicago, words to our “let’s go have some fun” theme song by Scissor Sisters:
Gonna take your mama out all night
Show her what it’s all about
Get her jacked up on some cheap champagne
Let the good times all roll out.....
Do it! Take your mama out all night
You can stay up late cause baby you a full grown man..
It’s safe to say that I’ll be sticking to my sweet tea for a while. When I do venture back to Margaritaville I’m going to make a more pedestrian version of those bad boys, watered down for sanity. I’m also have decided to assign myself the punishment of writing 50 times, “ I will not consume any alcoholic beverage on an empty stomach”. Goes to show you self regulation is quite possible, but it would have been better to have avoided the situation all together. That was such a mom thing to say.
Cole Haan, Detroit hockey, Margaritas, hangover
Reader Comments (5)
It's good for your family to see the occasional mistake from their momma maven. It makes you seem just a little more human.
And since we all are (human, that is), it's impossible to avoid the occasional foible, so you might as well get some mileage out of it.
I remember my mom threw a dinner party once. At some point in the evening she went upstairs to her room to get something. After a while, one of her friends asked where she was, so I went up to see what she was doing and she had fallen asleep! At her own dinner party!
Well, that's one way to get the sleep you need! Very creative! : )
PS: GREAT SHOES!
Mayor, that pitcher of margs was too luscious to pass up. You did the right thing. And how could you deny your company another round? I'm with Mother on this. Foibles are human. So, umm, can I come over when you make your next batch?