I now know the name of my favorite cocktail. Skinny Bitch. All these years and I had no idea. But I like it, the name. It's got attitude.
I've never been a whiskey girl. Burr, makes me shudder just to smell it. Clear liquors for me only, thanks. Vodka strongly preferred. Tequila second choice. Rum on occasion. Gin only when I'm desperate.
When I was in gradual school, my boyfriend was a bartender. I got to taste test all sorts of drinks. My wish was his drink fulfillment.
First there was my Tom Collins phase. Or in my case, Vodka Collins. Drinking this, I thought I looked all virginia slim sipping from the tall, slender glass. Over time I decided it was too sweet which led to too awful feeling in the morning.
Next up, the Greyhound. Vodka and grapefruit. My mouth still waters thinking about these. I quit drinking them due to sour, burning stomach. Too acidic I suppose.
Then there was the Amoretta Sour phase. I really liked this drink. Until I didn't. Sour stomach and headache by end of the evening.
Cuba Libras tasted good. Rum and diet coke with a wedge of lime. Didn't have the sugar but it did come with caffeine. Wired me up. Drunk bitch on speed. Not pleasant for me or anybody in the room, for that matter.
Eventually I moved up to the big girl drink, Skinny Bitches. Stolichnaya Vodka in those days with a splash of soda and a twist of lemon. Rather than a skinny bitch, I proceeded to turn into a sarcastic, insulting bitch. Drinking straight up is a good recipe for drunk misbehaving not to mention the risk of developing a serious drinking problem.
These days I add a lot less vodka and more club soda. Or flavored, calorie-free sparkling water. A splash of cranberry juice. A splash. Doesn't that sound refreshing?
The other benefit of Skinny Bitches- no sugar means less painful hangovers. Way less. It's the sugar that makes morning headaches throb and stomachs queazy. Get rid of that and mornings start out a lot fresher.
Drinking less alcohol, fewer calories and waking up not feeling like a truck has run over me? One skinny bitch, please. Hold the sarcasm.
When I discovered I was going to be a parent I knew I was entering a whole new dimension of worry. Worry about the safety of my kids. Worry about their school performance. Worry that they will like me. Worry that I will let them down somehow.
What I hadn't anticipated was worrying about the wellbeing of my kids' friends. Learning details of what their lives are like at home. Hearing that a mother is emotionally badgering her daughter. Seeing my daughter worry about her friend's safety as she gets into her car with her enraged parent. Knowing that my child's friend is caught in the middle of a nasty divorce. Feeling uncertain how to proceed when the friend's parent consistently fails to reciprocate hospitality or car pool. It's not the kids' fault his parents won't do the right thing. Wanting to reach out and protect my son's friend but being unable to do so for fear of severing the relationship entirely. Being unable to sleep because I'm worried how that child is sleeping tonight.
When my husband and I decided to stop at four kids we had no way of knowing we would carry the emotional burden of parenting a half dozen more.