Last Call

So Thursday night after I had put in my weekly three hours of retail slavery, I was - gasp! shock! stop the presses! - supposed to meet up with a few friends for a couple drinks at a going away party. No big deal, right? I should have known that could (and would) never be the case. To start off my evening, DH and I were in a spat. I left for work pissed off, stewed about it even more while there, and then after another heated exchange on the phone while en route downtown, well... you add alcohol to that mix and see what happens. I also uttered the phrase, "I won't be home too late." Why I said that, I don't know. I NEVER go out, never do anything without at least one of the kids with me, so why did I open my mouth and speak those words? He knew it probably wasn't true, I knew it probably wasn't true, so why did I say it? To make a long story short, shots were purchased, shots were drank (I wasn't gonna say no, they cost money!), and I wound up a hot mess. Luckily since my tolerance is pretty low (I was buzzed one beer in), I didn't have a hangover, but I will say my brain hurt for most of the next day. I think it's official though: I can't hang anymore. My young, cool, partyin' days are over and gone. While I had a blast, I was much happier to sit home yesterday and read a book than I was to go out for St. Patty's like my friends did. How did I get so old so quickly? I used to be able to drink people under the table, want to be out every night, and go on two hours of sleep the next day. How quickly the mighty fall. Ah well. It was nice to be Nic for a few hours, not Mommy, but I'm still stickin' with the latter.