Not being a big drinker means that I don’t have that many drunken Tammy stories. Since it has been six months since I shared one with you, I figured it was time. I might have to create some new ones soon if I want to keep up sharing at this pace!
This story took place about seven years ago.
After serving as demo girl for Kurt’s dance class, the two of us decided to go to our local watering hole for a drink – just like we did every week. As usual, I ordered my lemon drop (the drink, not the shot). Kurt is quite friendly with the bartender that week, and when my drink appeared, it was in an over-sized martini glass – not a usual occurrence.
Having just spend the previous two hours doing lifts and drops in swing dancing, I was thirsty, and my drink disappeared quite quickly. I had only the last part of my drink left when the world started spinning, and I used Kurt’s arm for support. He reached for my drink, so I quickly downed the rest and handed him the empty glass.
My vertical hold continued to fail me. The words, “It’s getting really hot in here,” were barely out of my mouth when Kurt announced that it was time to get me home. I protested, but he informed me that no amount of whining would work. We left the bar without incident, and I made it most of the way back to the car without stumbling.
The highlight of the ride home was when Kurt rolled down the window (so I wouldn’t puke in his car – which I didn’t, thank you) and I stuck my head out. I fully understand why dogs like doing that!!!!!
When we got back to my house, I noticed that Kurt opened his car door. I told him he didn’t need to get out. He asked how I planned to get up the stairs to my house. I was completely outraged that he thought I couldn’t do it on my own! I decided to show him. I opened my car door with a lot of force … and realized I couldn’t get out of the car on my own. So he helped me up the stairs to my apartment. Fortunately he didn’t hear the thud and peels of laughter when gravity proved to be too strong for me a step and a half into my apartment. Thank goodness for area rugs!
Kurt is a great friend – obviously – and called to check on me the next day. Fortunately for my ego’s sake, I was able to proudly report no ill effects of my single drink drunken stupor.
I think there are three morals of the story: 1) eating four hours before drinking and then doing heavy duty cardio for two hours doesn’t lend itself to holding one’s liquor, 2) having one alcoholic beverage a week does nothing to build your tolerance, and 3) having great friends makes life’s little bumps a lot more comfortable.
When was your last drunken fuzzy memory? or Does anyone else enjoy the feel of air in your face?