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Thursday, February 15, 2007

A Pink Nightmare

Over the weekend George and I took Abby and Georgie to see Go, Diego, Go Live! The Great Jaguar Rescue. My review of the show is neither the point of this post, or even important, but let me just say, intermission was, by far, the best part of the 90 minute puppet show. But my kids were happy and entertained without much effort on my part, so I guess that's really all that's important.

Before the show, I stopped at the store to stock up on some treats to hide in my purse, as to avoid paying $10 for one bag of popcorn at the show. I grabbed two coffees for George and myself, and some candy and Strawberry Yoo-hoo for the kids. After drinking my 24 oz. coffee, I was thirsty, so I took a quick swig or two of Abby's drink. It hit me that quick. I instantly became dizzy and nauseous - flashbacks to a college graduation party I attended five years earlier.

The party was at a hall, with mostly family. It had an open bar, stocked with beer, wine and bottom shelf liquor. There were no professional bartenders, just a few retired firemen from the town were running the bar on this particular evening. Since the hall was located in the same town in which I grew up, I knew a few of these firemen well. As the night wore on, I became bored with the generic beer, and the jug wine was leaving an odd, metallic taste in my mouth. One of the impostor bartenders insisted I give his new favorite drink concoction a try. A bit leery, I agreed. He handed me a glass that looked as if it were filled with Pepto Bismal. I inquired as to what I was about to drink. "Strawberry Yoo-hoo and vodka," he replied. I closed my eyes and took a sip. Kind of odd, but not entirely bad. To be polite, I took another sip, and another, until I was on my fourth or tenth drink of this stuff. The high sugar content (and, sure, maybe it had a little to do with the high vodka content) started making me a bit queasy and towards the end of the night I was quite a sight to see. I wound up sick, hiding out in the bathroom stall the remainder of the evening. Fortunately, I don't remember the part where I insisted on telling people, over and over, how much I loved them, or crying into my sleeve about the people who did not love me back. Like I said, I was quite a mess. I still don't understand why he kept pushing those baneful drinks at me. This man was a former fire fighter. Was his job not to help people? He certainly did not help me the next morning, when I couldn't see out of my left eye and my stomach was ineludibly stuck on the spin cycle.

Somehow, to this day, vodka I'm fine with. It's still only Strawberry Yoo-hoo that sends me spinning every time.

Moral of the story: When in doubt, stick to the boring generic beer.

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Blogger The Dude said...

I may have to try that. Although I love my white russians.

February 15, 2007 at 3:23 PM  

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