2003-08-31

I am swearing off the sauce.

It�s true. No more drinking. Even socially. I�ll be the loser in the corner with his faketail pretending that he�s having a good time.

Yes, I understand that such a pronouncement is a major step. And I will say that it�s not motivated by any 12-Step program or religious conversion.

I�m just tired of saying stupid things at the worst possible time.

Like tonight.

It was a BBQ. A simple affair of mostly friends at Sisters and Husbands condo. We were all feeling mellow. I�d been drinking Arnold Palmers since about 2 seeing that it was labor day weekend and come Tuesday it would be inappropriate to drink the summer drinks. On the plus side, I could break out my corduroys and not feel strange fft-ffting about. <- That right there. I shouldn�t drink.

There was a conversation about underwear. A simple topic. This important subject was being discussed with a heavy male contingent towards what good is it, except to keep ones pants clean. Feeling the results of my afternoon spent drinking rather than snacking, I piped in with this quote:

�What? No, wearing underwear that matches what I�m wearing is like a special secret I keep from the world�

There was silence. Shocked silence. Bad silence. No �Well Said� or �Hear, Hear�. No, there was uncomfortable shifting of eyes, and I turned the color of my sisters Cosmopolitan, a drink no doubt the rest of the BBQ quests felt that I should have been imbibing.

Sister could have helped. She could have diffused the situation. In the moments after the comment was made, as the conversational void dragged on to long and something, anything needed to be done. She sensed my helplessness and delivered the killing blow.

�Well, we�ll just have to find you a boyfriend now, won�t we�. And that was it. I waited to long to pass it off, stunned at my loose lips that had sunk the ship of my social life, aided and abetted by the iceberg that is family. Because I had been �in� with these people. I had upped my social circle to include the children of the cities elite, and I was loving it. But no more. Nope. I stuck around for 10 minutes more. And then fled. I had no where else to go. The patio with the smokers was forever closed to me. Husband had wisely chosen to head out to the grille, where he set about resetting the coals for the shrimp skewers. The girls were still chatting in the living room checking out the latest Vogue but I couldn�t hang there. I didn�t need to reinforce the new perception everyone had of me.

I hate it. I hate screwing up royally like that. Getting caught thinking differently or foolishly making some stupid inner working public. Because this is what happens. It always has. It�s why I don�t let people get close to me, it�s why I�ve never had a relationship get too serious, which always drives the girls away.

So, I�ll stay away from that Judas alcohol. And I�ll work even harder at finding shallow, fickle people with whom I can hide with. And I�ll bury this moment with the others.

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