I think John is trying to get me drunk.
I KNOW John is trying to get me drunk.
This entire vacation has been peppered with "Want a drink with that?" No, not water, which is my usual answer. He's pushing the spirits. He has this theory about Drunk Jenny. Drunk Jenny on vacation is a lot more fun than regular Jenny on vacation. Regular Jenny comes with a side of schedules and a special supersized dessert of "Everything must be organized!" (You should have seen our cabin.) (Even our hostess was impressed with the daily evidence of our stay and I even apologized for THAT.) Drunk Jenny comes with no sides, just a "Whatever the hell you want to do, I'm game" devil may care attitude that seems to be more fun than "Where's Sprite?" "Sprite! Get off that chair!" "John, get off that chair!" he usually gets plied with.
Sure, once I'm under the influence, things are good and merry as long as he watches the imbibery. Too much and I'm no good to him. Too little and it's just as if Regular Jenny came to the party alone and didn't bring the dip.
But getting me under the influence? That's a trick in itself. I'm not one to drink as it stands, and once this weekend is over, two hours and counting until Monday claims its next victim, I'll be back on the wagon and declining all alcoholic fancies that should come my way, but for some reason, the second we stepped aboard the ship, there was a glass of champagne in my hand and I was sipping at random.
Did you know it's okay to bring your own alcohol aboard a cruise ship? (Check your cruise line's rules. It may be different for everyone.) We smuggled (quite openly) several small travel containers of Kahlua, rum, vodka, tequila, amaretto, and whatever else caught John's eye during a last minute stop at a liquor store the night before we boarded. One thing I don't quite understand is a cruise liner's kind of lax strictness on this rule. One would think they would discourage it quite sternly considering this takes away from their own sale of overpriced mixed cocktails (I had to write cocktails several different ways because the spelling didn't look right to me. This is what drinking does to me. It makes me forget the English language.)
John had bought me a smoothie on the pool deck and we yanked out a small bottle of rum (I giggled like an idiot while trying to be discreet about it, but John smirked and just emptied the container right there in the adult pool area where cast members and other guests could see us. That's right. When I think I'm breaking the rules, I giggle like a moron. If you're ever with me and I start snickering with no apparent reason, check my pockets.) and made my smoothie a little more smooth. He basically took a $3.99 drink and turned it into an $8.99 drink. And it was delicious.
This entire tangent has been sponsored by Bailey's.
But anyway, the trick to making me drink is to trick my taste buds into thinking I'm not drinking any liquor at all. Then the only way I'll be able to tell is when it's too late to discreetly pour the usually horrid airiness of the spirits down whichever drain is closest. (Some plants have taken a beating for me in the past when a sink wasn't readily available. And thrived as a result. Who knew?) So John knows to keep my appertif's light and shaken, not stirred. (Seriously, is there a difference?)
So, when he learned that I can drink champagne without making the face of death that usually follows a sip of wine, he ordered a few glasses of it for our anniversary dinner. The milk that Sprite didn't finish from dinner was brought back to our room where he sneakily added an ounce or two of Kahlua and gave me what likened to a White Russian (or just the best tasting chocolate milk EVER) to accompany us to that evening's show.
Sigh. There's still quite a few bottles of the stuff left over from what we DIDN'T drink during our vacation, but they'll keep until New Year's, the only other holiday I usually let my hair down and let my BAL up.
(I just read what I wrote and it seems this post needs a sponsor.)
(Don't drink and write, folks. You won't respect yourself in the morning.)
(Pictures and more stories to come once John edits them and sends back the damn rented fisheye lens. Seriously, who likes looking at those pictures where you feel like you need to be inebriated to enjoy them?)
(And now the title makes sense. I knew I would come around..)