I’m still out of bourbon. This is sad. Mark weaseled out of stopping by the liquor store on Friday. (In case you’re feeling nasty and thinking “Are her legs broken? Does her car not work?”: just stop and think about Ethan the tornado and Ian the shrieking monkey-boy in a store filled with expensive glass bottles. Enough said.)
BUT Mark did have time in his busy weekend schedule to go out this morning and pick up a copy of Harry Potter book 7.
Let me be clear: I do not in any way resent his longing to read the book first. I understand his primal urge to enjoy those last few unexplored pages of young Harry’s life without me losing his bookmark or giving away some plot point by laughing out-loud at 2am.
What I do resent is being so sublimely bored and not having any blasted bourbon. I don’t even need that much! Just a wee drop would probably be enough, given my low alcohol tolerance and the past 20 months of sobriety.
Alas, it’s Diet Coke and the NY Times article on Ron Paul for my night’s entertainment. See why I need the bourbon?
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