A bad day is when you step in SURPRISE shit, fall down in the rain, (breaking your bosses umbrella) and frantically making sure your Ralph Lauren boots didn't get scratched in the process.
But Wednesday was full of creative thinking processes and working together as a team.
It was also taco night.
Every night, when I walk in the door, both of my children greet me and ask about my day. They then sympathize with me when the beast is being beastly (they usually take his side) and pat my head when I am whiny. (They half-roll their eyes) and Emma hangs around while I prepare dinner.
"So mom. Taco's tonight?" Emma smiles and hops up on her feet.
I don't even know WHY Emma gets so excited for tacos. She basically eats cheese inside of a freshly cooked taco shell, but whateves.
"YES! Tacos." I nod and immediately start to disrobe.
"Was it a good day?" Emma asks.
"Yes. Busy but good."
"We could always go to El Rosal. you know, so you don't have to cook."
My daughter is a genius. She also enables me to not cook sometimes. (Which makes her a geniusy-er genius.)
"YES! I need Mexican food in my life."
So off we went and Shane drove.
I have been going to this El Rosal for 17 years. When I sit down, they know what I order. When I ask for a Dos Equis...I'll be honest. She looked at me funny.
"A beer?" She asks.
"Yes." I nod
"Ooooookaaaaaay." and she walks away to get it.
Listen.
I don't drink.
And when I do, I can only have like...a sip. (I am pretty sure that I have an allergy to alcohol.)
The waitress clunks a huge glass stein in front of me, complete with an itty bitty lime wedge.
"What the fuck is that?" I murmur. In awe of the gigantic-ness of it all.
In the world of beers. This was a goliath.
"That is your beer." Shane dryly answers. Looking at me like I am a retard.
"But it is HUGE!" I say, sliding it up to my face and taking a gulp.
I am not going to lie here. I am not a beer connoisseur, but it was delicious...so I took another gulp.
"Try it!" I slide the mammoth monstrosity over to Shane and he shakes his head. "TRYYYYY it." I insist. (I have no guilt about it (ish)
He does and gags.
"There is no accounting for taste." I say and take my third gulp of the night
We continue chatting (The children were pushing each other back and forth and snapping pictures) and I took my fourth and final gulp.
Then it happened.
While telling the kids about my day, I pick up my napkin because my nose is itching something fierce.
It doesn't stop itching.
"Here we go." Shane leans over and murmurs to Emma.
"Yep." She replies staring at me.
"What? What are you saying?" I rub my nose vigorously and beam mom looks at the both of them.
"Nothing mama." Shane singsongs at me and laughs.
Shane is always laughing at me.
Shane is a Bully.
"Is it hot in here?" I ask. My face feels like it is on fire.Literally on FIRE and I begin to fan myself.
"Nope." Shane replies, laughing. Emma shakes her head and daintily dips a fry in ketchup all the while staring at me.
"Mom?" Shane questions
"Yes."
"Are you ....tipsy?"
My eyes narrow and I giggle. Because something comes over me whenever Shane accuses me of being TIPSY.
It's like...a mix between furious and hilarious. Furlarious. That's how I feel.
I push back my plate, grab my purse and stand up. "Let us go assholes." (Apparently I also talk like badmouthed royalty when I am furlarious.)
I don't remember much about the ride home, except wishing I could have gifted someone the rest of my delicious mug of beer, the children staring at me and my being very impressed that I was such a cheap drunk.
