My mother
and I went to our family veterinarian's wedding. They served champagne
at this wedding. I was in high school. The wedding was on a Sunday.
I had never had alcohol before. I had never been at a wedding
where alcohol was served. My mother said it was okay for me to
have a glass. I had a glass. The couple left the reception in
a hot air balloon. I left with a headache. I had to write a book
report that night.
Oh, wait.
I remember once going to a cousin's wedding when I was about six.
There was a bar at the reception. I saw that they were
serving "Shirley Temples" and wanted one. My mother
wouldn't let me have one. She didn't want me to partake of anything
having to do
with the alcoholic culture. Even thinking about alcohol was as
bad as partaking. You know, like Jimmy Carter lusting in his heart.
Sure, NOW I know that a Shirley Temple doesn't have alcohol in
it. But I didn't know then. I thought it could make you just as
loopy
as the next hootch.
Mothers are
nothing but breathing contradictions. I need a drink...
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