I Don’t Even Like Whiskey
Not that there’s anything wrong with the stuff. In fact, a brief perusal of the internet uncovered signs that whiskey is loaded with antioxidants. I just don’t enjoy fire cascading down my throat, so trust me when I say that whiskey and I ended our affair before it ever began.
I tell you this in the interest of setting the record straight. Seems I’ve gone and acquired a bit of reputation.
And for that I blame my kids. Oh those munchkins and the things they say golly gee if it doesn’t make me want to roll them in oats and shove them in the fridge for a day or four.
You know, to temporarily cool their chattering jets.
I’ve heard that kids say the darndest thing. I just didn’t know that she’d say them to her teacher and a room full of 9 year old punks.
Seems the third grade is all a twitter about mountain men (I take it they are something like cowboys, only less sexy.) The teacher told her class tales of the wild old days.
My darling explained,
‘The mountain men drank lots of whiskey and they gambled. Sometimes they even lost their wives in card games.’
‘That’s why I thought of you, Mom.’
Fair enough. My name has long been synonymous with liquor-swilling and Texas Holdem.
She continued,
‘We were talking about whiskey so I told that story, you know, your story. The one with you, in the mountains, with the whiskey.’
My story? I have a whiskey story? My apologies to the dead horse, but really, I don’t even like the stuff.
And my darling child continued some more,
‘My teacher called on me, so I told the class about that time you drank too much whiskey and then went to lie down and sleep in the street.’
Of course. Right. What self-respecting mother doesn’t regale her kids with her sleep-off-the-bender-in-the-road story as she tucks them in at night?
By the way, I thought I’d finally include a picture of my no good, rootin’-tootin’ road-sleeping, saloon-frequenting self. You know, to go with my new reputation.
