Last night, I was getting ready for Alex’s fraternity’s quarterly cocktail. It is a chance to get dressed up, got out to eat with other couples from the frat and get really drunk while wearing heels.
In past years, getting drunk in heels was my favorite part, and Alex’s least favorite part. Once, I was really drunk and staggering around and I stepped on his foot in my 4 inch spike heels. The heel went clear through his nice dress shoe. Fortunately, I missed his toe, but as he tells it, not by much. I find the story hilarious, though Alex disagrees. Comedy is all about perspective.
This year, I was not drunk. I wasn’t even drunk getting ready. This is important because a) putting on makeup while drunk never ends well and b) I decided to curl my hair. For me, even trying to brush my hair while drunk ended up with my hair resembling a dead money perched on my head. However, I still managed to burn myself with the iron. Y’all, it looks like a hickey. So the next time someone says there is curling iron burn under the 3 inches of make-up, YOU SHOULD BELIEVE HER. Seriously.
But, I must say, I looked amazing:
As did Alex:
Yes, that is an 8-bit tie. It makes me love him just a little bit more.
Last night was really so much more fun than I thought it would be. I assumed that when I gave up drinking, my life would automatically default on boring. I thought that parties would be lame and the people there would be lamer. As it turns out, I was DEAD. WRONG. I found that not being drunk was not only fun, but also oddly satisfying. I didn’t feel the need to go up to the bar every 10 minutes, nor did I feel self-conscious about my appearance or behavior. Because I was in control. Total control, which for a control freak like me, is something I’ve always wanted, but yet never made the connection between being drunk and being out of control. Sometimes, I really am that dumb.
It was so simple; we drove there, danced for a little while, talked, laughed, left, drove home, and played video games until wee hours of the morning. There was no drama, no injuries, and no vomiting. I believe that’s what normal people call success. I call it a small miracle. An act of god, if you will.
When Alex and I finally went to bed, I just couldn’t believe how much fun I had had. The night was warm, the music was bad, the company was fantastic, and I remember it all. I remember the dancing and talking and losing Mario Party 8 spectacularly. I remember going to bed and I didn’t have an impending sense of doom when I woke up.
I think this is what they mean by recovery.