My Fellow Inebriates,
I totally screwed up on the gin-tasting table. By the time I’d added more BOOMSMA to my third G&T (because I forgot to tell you what a creeper it is and how invisibly it mixes and how you just, like, NEED to add more of it….well, you know what happened. I forgot to take proper notes, and I forgot Christine liked BOOMSMA straight up better than GORDON’S. But she forgot her sweater at the house (the next day when she drove away sober)!! We all forget things when the gin is splashing.
My Fellow Inebriates,
Proving that Dry Weekdays are one of my mother’s worst ideas ever, Saturday’s Pre–Mother’s Day Gin Shoot-out quickly escalated (devolved?) into the kind of unbridled debauchery you get when lengthy privation provides the springboard. Yes, a party broke out at LBHQ. Yes, children were present, and it was mostly wholesome, at least until beddy-byes.
Christine’s arrival kicked it off. Even without a canvas bag full of Scotch (we’d billed the evening as a gin tasting), Christine was a ray of sunshine and well worth the afternoon I spent hanging out on the window sill waiting for her. Truth be told, I’d been holding some navy socks of Christine’s hostage in hopes that she’d return for them. But when she arrived I was so overjoyed that I forgot to give them to her.
Jumping into gin seemed wrong to the humans (where do these ideas come from?) so we…
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