Monday April 8, 2013: The Price of Foolishness

Dear Babies,

Everyone has their number, the dollar amount that they will agree to that will seal the deal, get the job done, bring a person over to the other side…

Evidently mine is a dollar.

One dollar.

Four quarters.


Saturday night your dad and I were at an Italian restaurant. At the end of the meal the waiters walked around offering homemade grappa, spooning it into little cups from a silver urn with a ladle. No one likes grappa. It’s an after dinner drink/liqueur that tastes like rubbing alcohol. But come on, with that presentation how could one resist? Plus, there is something about “homemade” alcohol that is very appealing, says me, hobos and frat boys.

“Yes please,” three of us at the table said with glee. Then one took a sip and he cringed and shuddered. “I can’t drink this!” he said.

Your dad did the same. Sip. Cringe. Shudder. Blech. 

But I…

“I’ll give you a dollar, a whole dollar, is you slam that grappa right now,” someone said to me watching me smirk. “Do it as a shot. Take it down. Right now.”

(Me, apparently: “A WHOLE DOLLAR!”)

Cue Girls Gone Wild, which at age 34 becomes Moms on the Loose and is the same concept but features no beads (because our kids will just play with them) and boobs that are breastfeeding and going-out outfits of capri pants: {SLAM!}

In my mind I was cool. I swallowed the putrid alcohol and grinned, the cat who ate the canary. “Dollar, please,” extending my hand across the table, as cool as a cucumber.

In reality I was coiling my neck into my throat holding back vomit, because I am a beacon of class.

“Nooooo…” I heard your dad cry in slow motion.

But the damage was done. In that one move I sealed my fate of being miserably hungover for the next 48 hours. Which could be a good companion video to Moms on the Loose, “The Aftermath,” as a black comedy, if you are a mentally disturbed being who thinks watching grown people on the couch all day eating cheese doodles watching Yo Gabba Gabba is funny. “Look, now she’s getting up to drink vanilla almond milk straight from the carton!” (I could see the look on a brilliant friend/editor’s face whom I like to bounce ideas off of: “Maybe not much of a market there,” so polite, so sweet.)

My point of all of this is, here it is Monday afternoon, and I am still recovering from that one, stupid decision.

I just tried to find a lid to a piece of tupperware, and I couldn’t. I mean I physically could not. I didn’t have the mentally capacity to stick it through. All of the five million mismatched lids and bowls and crap fell out onto me in an avalanche. “SCREW THIS!” I got so mad and picked up a heap and chucked it in the garbage (nope, my dorky number five recycling bin I bring to Whole Foods).

As parents we are supposed to lead by example. But how do you teach a child to play within the limits? To have fun, to be silly, to go away to college, sow your oats…but, think! Stay in control! Don’t do something just because everyone else does! You don’t have to be the fool!

Live a little, sure. But know that there are consequences. Maybe it’s the awareness of these consequences that will serve as the guiding tool…

dollar dollar bill

Next time, I’m upping the ante to at least a $1.25.




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