I lost my driver's license. And now everyday, when I work in my kitchen, cooking and selecting small snacks to snack on, I worry about my supply of alcohol drying up. One box of Merlot. Five beers. Now it's down to three beers. And the box is dwindling. Curse me for speeding. I wasn't even drunk when it happened. Now I may never be drunk again. I don't understand the law. And I cannot find my passport.
Can a birth certificate buy you booze?
Never mind. I should not drink when I am sad and I am sad that I cannot drink freely. This is America damnit. Oh but only if this was some other country where alcohol restrictions were not so fierce. Then I could lolly-gag with the weight of my whiskey and make merry with my Midori.
Oh wait, Midori?
That strikes in me a remembrance of the stocking times when I was two months younger and much more legal. When I wanted everything and still dreamed of fancy drinks and fancy parties. There was once Midori, and whiskey, and merlot in cubes. And sure enough, behind frozen vegetables and besides frozen pizzas, there they are: Handles. Vodka, Vodka, SoCo, and Gin. Brilliant discovery! My freezer's a win! Martini's every night, I can't wait to begin!
No comments:
Post a Comment