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Sometimes life gives you lemons. Sometimes it gives you limes. Or Lyme Disease.
Snarky Patty alert: you've been warned.
This past week did not go well for me, my friends.
In fact, it’s been one that not only has been the absolute Stink-A-Palooza 2021 … but also has been one I would not wish on anyone.
Except maybe the mean troll who was responsible for it. Word on the street is that mean guys finish last?
Hmm. Either way. It was one that I would love to repeat NEVER.
Not by a long shot. Or a short one, either.
Or a putter shot. Or a vaccine shot. Or rim shot -- or any other shot sort, see?
Frankly, last week literally drove me to the brink of a real shot. You know, the alcohol variety.
Now, I don’t know nothin’ about doin’ no shots, yo.
I honestly don’t drink. Not because I’m opposed to it in moderation, natch. I’m not some stuffy prude, ya know, no matter what you may have heard from my hubby or kid.
It’s just that, other than the occasional “whoop-it-up” fest in my early 20s, I’ve just never been a real alcohol aficionado.
I don’t like being sluggish or floopy the next day. I don’t like anything that makes my head hurt or my tummy bloat. And, if I’m choosing calories between drinking alcohol or chompin’ dark chocolate, um hello? #ChocolateIsEverything
Heck, I haven’t even had anything other than a sip of wine at Mass during communion (pre-Covid) since well before Kyle was born.
He’s 21 and gestation for humans is nine months so, you do the abstinence arithmetic, a’ight?
Ergo, even though tempted by the worst day I’ve had since Corona was only popular as like, the cool-people cerveza, I didn’t even know where to begin lookin’ at liquor?
Tequila or vodka, maybe? Perhaps some type of the 87 gazillion types of whiskey out there. I really couldn’t tell you because my beverages of choice are coffee and diet cola.
What? There’s water in both of them?
But last Wednesday, my wonderful pals, was a complete stroll down “somebody please just SHOOT me, already” avenue, you dig?
And it shot all the air right out of me. Speaking of which after much aggression, er, I mean digression, maybe I need to put on a big girl dress and just toss back the baddest shot in the whole darn town: whiskey.
BLECH, BT Dubs.
Um, is it me or is there a new brand unveiled every 14 seconds or so?
Old timers like me, who still watch commercials, can’t help but notice that, besides insurance, new drugs, mobile phones/wireless services, credit card, home health/elderly alert, and obviously restaurant and/or food delivery service companies -- well, alcohol ads air almost always.
If you aren’t watching:
1) Jake from State Farm get extra pizza, bacon, or honey right from the hive;
2) That hilarious motivational speaker from Progressive teaching old people in young bodies how to say “quinoa” or 3) Target, Wal-Mart, or Home Depot convincing you confinement is cool (and who to vote for next political season, just sayin’) …
Then you are definitely sitting through a beer or whiskey spot beckoning your next beverage … and future hangover, BT Dubs.
And the booze spots are hysterical, by the way.
Just about funny enough to turn a teetotaler like me into a rip-roarin’ prohibitionist.
Probably not though, again, I’m not disparaging it. I mean, I’m an Italian Catholic, for heaven’s sake.
Red wine is one of the four Italian food groups, Capisce?
Kimerer is a columnist looking to get sauced; but probably the Italian pasta dinner kind. E-mail her at firstname.lastname@example.org