Was There Wine Saturday Night?

Exhibit A:  Wine

WAS there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  I know there was gorgeous, tasty Tapas.  I do remember that much.  It was glorious having food I actually wanted to eat, handed to me, with no-one hanging off my leg and asking annoying questions like, “what’s that there?  The red thing.  Yuck.  I’m not eating that!”

Was there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  I know there was a drop taken as I got ready and the remainder of the bottle shared as we waited for our lift into town.  I remember chatting but couldn’t tell you what we were actually chatting about.  I remember a phone camera.  I remember having all the lolz.

Was there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  After our tapas we went to a pub but only for a half an hour before the taxi arrived to take us all home.  I remember a lovely doggy face looking in on us as we dropped a friend to her house and then my own doggy greeting me when I got home.  I remember getting out of that taxi but not getting into it.

Was there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  There was a slow climb upstairs holding onto the wall for support.  I know I briefly considered removing my make-up but I think I snorted and kind of folded myself onto the bed.  Not into it. Then the room started to spin and I distinctly remember telling myself to, “concentrate.  Breathe and you’ll be……..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

Was there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  Who knew eyelids could weigh so much and be so difficult to open?  When I managed it the next morning I was in exactly the same position I fell down in.  And to this day I am still not sure if those were the last of the summer swallows outside the window or just little black dots in front of my eyes.   There was a definite request for two pain killers and a cup of tea.  One I was not able to drink.  I rolled over and blanked it all out.   

Was there wine Saturday night?  I think there was.  It was 1pm when I opened my eyes again.     Mister Husband asked me the obligatory questions about who was out and what did I have to eat.  I told him lots of other people were out and we had pear cake for desert with one of the tapas courses consisting of the tiniest, most perfect little quail’s egg.  But two days later I am still waiting for the rest of it to come back to me. 

Exhibit B:  Pear Cake

Was there wine Saturday night?  There definitely was.  There was also a red lipstick swatch on the back of my hand.  I had a niggling hedgehog memory I couldn’t explain.    

When I went downstairs I was greeted warmly by my neglected kids.  “Hiya, Mammy.  What was it like last night?  What did you have to eat?”

I told them it was gorgeous and I had wonderful things to eat.  The absolute truth.

“You were asleep for all of the day. Was that because you drank all the alcohol last night?”

It certainly felt like it.

Was there wine Saturday night?  There sure was.  And do you know what?  There was a drop taken on Sunday night too!