Last summer I played on a softball team on Friday nights. Leave it to me to find a team more focused on drinking than playing. As team MVP (aka, catcher or right fielder), I played a key role not only during the game, but also at the after party.
Before one game mid-season, I told myself to “keep it together,” as I was leaving the next day for a family reunion and had to be at my family’s house in the suburbs pretty early. I tried, I really did! But the combination of not eating dinner and downing multiple vodka sodas dictated otherwise.
I woke up the next day, looked at the clock and freaked out when I realized it was the time I was supposed to be at my parent’s house! There went helping them pack up the coolers and car, let alone packing my own bag.
As I quickly scampered out of bed, I noticed that I was not alone. I spent the night with my smooth, sweet, chocolate lover….
Yes, you guessed it. A cup of pudding. From what I could gather from the crime scene, I opened up said pudding and promptly passed out. It. Was. Everywhere. On me, on my sheets, on my teddy bear…um, what? I mean, not my teddy bear. I’m not a 31-year-old grown woman with a teddy bear! Please!
I quickly (while still drunk, I might add) started throwing clothes in a bag. I called my Mom, who asked: “Are you close to the house?”
“I will be there real soon!”
I made an educated (read: drunk) decision to wipe down my arms and face vs. take a shower to “save time,” threw my sheets in the hamper and started making my way to the suburbs.
When I arrived I was greeted with some pretty angry campers, who I very sweetly ignored and instead demanded breakfast. Mom then squinted at me and gasped, “What is on your arm?!?”
I looked down and saw some crusted chocolate love, saving itself for later. I leaned down to lick it off and professed, “It’s pudding!!!!”
My family quickly figured out the reason for my lateness and drew straws to determine whose car I would ride in. My brother drew the short straw.
Moral of the Story:
Of the many things I like to do while drunk, passing out while eating is not one of them. I’m either going to pass out or I’m going to eat. The combination does not end well, apparently.
This was the only time I have done this. It was obviously slim pickin’s at my house. Who eats sugar-free pudding after a night at the bars?