For example, I now put normally boring drinks in a fancy glass. I use either a martini glass or wine glass, and I find myself requiring at least three ingredients before a beverage is satisfactory. First, half a glass of ginger ale--I started for the nausea, kept it for the bubbles. The other half might be cranberry juice with a dash of orange or vice versa. And why not add a bit of lime juice? How about a maraschino cherry? Grenadine? My drinks are now bar-quality virgin luxuries. Mmmmm.
I found peach juice while wandering around Aldi, and now it's my favorite. What a horrible trip, though--I forgot to get a cart before I walked through the automatic doors, and then I was too tired to walk all the way through to get out again because the door wouldn't open behind me, and so I just picked everything up with my hands and got so tired I nearly started crying, plus I looked ridiculous carrying a million slipping grocery items.
So I put them all down on a counter and rested for a moment, paranoid that I'd be accused of lazily leaving items out of place if I walked away to get a reusable grocery bag (which I bought and have forgotten to use ever since). Boo. Also my back hurt a lot. I called my husband to whine and he assured me that I never had to get groceries again, but I can hardly expect him to know what brand to buy or where to go to get the cheap stuff, right?
Plus how will he know that I'll be having a craving for white cheddar popcorn at 2 am? I have to plan ahead for these things, and I can't put junk food on a grocery list because then it COUNTS. It HAS to be impulse, otherwise I'm guilty of premeditated junk-fooding.
Although I have made him walk to Walgreens at around 10 pm for the following:
- a Caramello bar
- another Caramello bar
- boxes of macaroni and cheese so I could use the cheese powder on my popcorn
- three more Caramello bars
- teriyaki beef jerkey
- CHOCOLATE
- gummy bears
He's never around when I'm craving V-8. Sheesh.
AAAAAAANYway, back to the alcohol issue. I miss it. Obviously. Especially when my good friend Cari says she's gonna go back to her place and relax with a bottle of wine and a movie, and I am jealous even though I don't really like wine. It just sounds fun. THAT'S RIGHT, SINGLE LADIES. This married, pregnant woman is jealous of your ability to sit at home alone and watch movies by yourself while you drink.
Just take note. You've got it good.
I was out last night with Cari and darling Elizabeth and the handsome fellow who shares my last name, playing darts and talking nonsense at the Chatterbox down on Ford Parkway. It was fabulous fun, and strangely enough I felt pretty drunk just because I was so tired. Pregnancy + 11 pm = woozy feeling! Don't worry, I got lots of sleep for the baby.
It was funny, though, that Elizabeth (the tiny girl) didn't get carded--though she had come straight from work and was wearing her nursing scrubs, so presumably she was a working woman of drinking age--but my tall, bearded, broad-shouldered husband did! The guy rubbing his pregnant wife's belly might not be old enough to drink? Well, it's possible, I guess. Elizabeth argued that the beard should be proof enough of age, to which Alex responded that he'd sported a full beard since age 16. I proposed that one should be able to tell a man's general age by how broad his shoulders are: teenage guys, and even those in the first half of college, tend to have skinny, narrow shoulders to rival any girl, but give 'em a few years and they broaden right out into sexy territory. And my manly man? He's president of Sexy Territory. He's taming that wild land of Sexy. He's... whooo-boy, pregnancy hormone rush. I should probably stop now.
Um. Darts are fun. The end!
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