In The Bag

Bill and I enjoy our occasional cocktail, as you may have surmised from some of my other posts.  I used to think that we were pretty typical social drinkers; we have one or two before dinner, once or twice a week unless it’s been a really bad/frustrating/stressful (b-f-s) day.  Then we go outside the twice weekly average and push into nightly imbibing territory.

Our b-f-s days can be triggered by one of several outside influences.  One is Sun City drivers, who are some of the worst drivers in the state, second only to Phoenix drivers, who are among the rudest, most aggressive and inconsiderate people on the road anywhere in the country.  And to make it even more dangerous, Arizona has very open gun laws, so odds are the person who just cut you off probably has a revolver in their car or on their person, so honking at them or flipping them off is probably not a great idea.

Or having a b-f-s day can be the result of going to the grocery store where the senior clientele have decided that they’ve been polite enough all their lives and, since they’ve retired from working, they’re also retiring from being civil.  They’ve also retired the section of their brain that controls their ability to perceive lines – like steering a shopping cart in a straight line down a grocery aisle, placing their car in-between the lines of a parking space, or looking and signaling before crossing their car over the lines of one lane and moving into another.

A b-f-s day can also be a gradual accumulation of small annoyances that come from our daily life with Mom.  Suddenly becoming the parent to your parent is enough of a stressor to turn anyone into a raging alcoholic.  It’s the little stuff that tends to build up throughout each day that causes us to break out the adult beverages in the evening.  Like when Mom yells urgently for me to ‘come right now’ and it’s only to show me some lady’s big butt on the Price Is Right.  Or when she insists that something inside the walls in her bedroom beeps at 5:00 every morning.  Or when she orders stuff from Publishers Clearing House and then claims she got it for Bill or me.  Like her latest acquisition: head lamps.  This must-have, $17.95 purchase is a 1″ x 1″ LED light that’s glued onto a black elastic band.  You wear it like a bright little Cyclops eye in the middle of your forehead.  But it was worth the price because she got two – one for Bill and one for me.

Anyway, back to our drinking habits.  We recently discovered the magic of Margaritas and Mojitos in a bag.  You add alcohol and water to the powered drink mix in the bag, shake it like crazy and put it in the freezer for slushy drinks or pour it over ice.  We usually go the rocks route because we just can’t wait for the slushiness to set up.  And oh boy, do they taste great!  Maybe too great since Bill decided to get a subscription for automatic shipments every three months.  At first I was afraid this meant we had breached the average drinker norm by joining what amounts to the drink of the month club.  But then I thought, based on the last couple of years – both of us losing our jobs, losing our home and our beloved Harvey the RV, moving in with and taking care of Mom, filing bankruptcy – we’re probably lucky we haven’t rolled up like a couple of post-middle aged armadillos into a permanent, depression induced fetal position.

Besides, we’ve decided to put the head lamps to good use.  We’re going to go into the backyard in the middle of the night and start digging for gold.  Or maybe oil.  Just Bill and me and our little head lamps.  And maybe a couple of coyotes.  And the beeping in the wall.

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