Earlier this morning I lamented about a lack of blog-worthy events in my life. Soon after, I was assured by a good friend, who happens to be a bartender at my favorite bar, that I would have a plethora of material after coming to visit her at work this evening. She was wrong. As you may have seen, I blogged about some shoes I bought earlier today. And now I shall write about the series of thoughts that occurred while I drove home from the bar. Yes, this is really all I have going on at present.
I have been doing my best to leave at a respectable hour and not consume frat-quality amounts of alcohol on Tuesdays. Having only had one dirty martini and one glass of red wine in a span of three hours tonight, I’d say I succeeded. I wasn’t even feeling buzzed (which is probably why I saw fit to leave before last call) when I decided to call it a night and make the 4-odd block trek to my car. For those who know my usual Tuesday night tales, this is a sure sign of an ever-growing “responsible side” that is tailgating the legion of gray hairs appearing on my head.
Feeling good about not having been sexually assaulted on my cold, lonely walk to my car, I confidently started the short drive home.
*Short break to respond to a knock I just heard at this absurd hour which prompted me to wonder if this apartment door has a peephole. It doesn’t. The knock will go unanswered as I have already removed my pants for the night. If it was you, I apologize. Call first!*
Back to the story:
As I said, I had consumed only one martini and one glass of wine in a three-hour period and felt beyond fine to make the short drive home. However, I didn’t count on encountering two GR Police cars parked in their “chat position” at a four-way stop I needed to go through. I knew I was fine, but I couldn’t help feeling panicked at the possibility that all of those M-Dot signs were right, “Buzzed driving IS drunk driving”. What would my friends and family think? How would I talk my way out of this shame? It’s funny how intense feelings of guilt can surface without any real merit. “Rich world problems”?
While I scoured my brain for any back catalog of driver’s training manuals I might be able to reference, the two police cars noticed my headlights approaching and moved on. Oh…so I guess they’ll just move. That seems much easier than the scenarios fast-forwarding in my mind at the time. As you can imagine, I traveled the remainder of my journey home uneventfully. I did have to circle the block and stalk someone to a parking spot, but that’s to be expected when you return home during prime bar hours in my particular location. Also to be expected is the necessity to wade through a sea of shivering, smoke-stack hipsters who look alarmingly similar to me.
After all of this second guessing and self-doubt, I should note that as I was walking up the steps to my apartment, I noticed my shadow and thought: “hey shadow, you’re looking svelte!” Of course, that mirage of self-admiration was quickly dissipated as soon as I clicked the deadbolt on my door and reintroduced myself to “end-of-the-night-take-off-your-bra-and-pants” Bettie.
I’ll leave you with that image.