Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Perrier, Please


My little sister is visiting from her fancy-storied New York life for a few days and we thought it would be fun to do Happy Hour in SF. Well, we wrangled my other little sister, who's local, and typed it into our datebooks. It was official: I was actually going to attend a Happy Hour for the first time in I don't know how long. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little excited.

The excitement quickly tuckered out once our date actually rolled around. I was exhausted and I missed my kids who didn't get enough of me on the weekend. Thank goodness both my sisters are such good fun or I would've bailed without even thinking twice.

The fun sister in me really wanted to go out and drink it up like I was 21 to prove to my sisters that "I still had it." My husband gave me the thumbs-up on hanging out until whenever, but all I could think about was the breast-milk I'd have to pump and dump to ensure my baby didn't get wasted alongside me. And, let's not even talk about the next morning-which would've only been a Tuesday! I'd hate to say I'm too old to hang-out, but I'm definitely old enough to know better. I can barely make it through my week sober.

In the end, it was too much effort for me to mentally and ethically struggle with. The bartender asked me for my order and all I could manage to say was "Perrier, please." At least it had a sparkle to it.

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