Elderly Acne Sufferer, That's Me

It's been a long day. LONG. It was the kind of day that led to a margarita-in-a-Guinness-glass night. Believe me, I earned it.

So, while drinking said margarita, I had a little visitor. Natalie came prancing down "to check on you, Mommy."

*sigh* It's so nice to be loved. Truly it is. Sometimes, though, I'd prefer it in more of a secret admirer kind of way. Seriously, kids, after 7:30, you need to stalk me from a distance. If you want to cut letters out of a magazine and send a note down the steps, fine. Just keep us restraining order distance apart.

My girlfriend flopped down on the couch, eyed up the drink in my hand and said, "What's THAT? Lemonade?"

I explained that it's a grown-up drink called a margarita.

She pondered. You should see her pondering face. It's hilarious.

N: So kids can't have any?

C: NO. It's not for kids.

N: Yeah, but it looks like lemonade and I'm allowed to have lemonade.

C: You are allowed to have lemonade but this isn't lemonade. It doesn't taste like lemonade. The only way it's the same is the yellow color.

N: Why can't kids have it?

C: It has something in it called alcohol. It would make a kid very, very sick. A person has to be 21 or older to drink anything with alcohol.

N, giving me an appraising glance: Yeah, well, you are a little old.

C: *deep sigh*

N: And you have pimples*. So you must be old enough.

That bought her a one-way ticket back to bed and another few splashes in the ol' glass for decrepit ol' mom.

Sláinte!

*Let the record show that my skin cleared up a few months after Bonnie was born. Nice that Natalie hasn't bothered to notice, isn't it? If you want to keep yourself humble, have kids.