With motherhood often threatening to send me on a three-day bender, I once developed a warning list of sorts. Included on the list were items that resulted in my immediate reaching for the nearest 151 proof bottle. Catalysts include:
Unfortunately, I live my life without much foresight. When my sons came to me yesterday, clamoring to conduct a lemonade stand, I agreed. Lemonade stands, for those unfamiliar, usually result in:
Three hours later, my flip-flops were glued to the kitchen floor. The kids were drinking most of their profits and bees were dive-bombing my front lawn. Coolers, ice bags and sticky cups were strewn everywhere. Signage included:
My right eyeball began to twitch. My blood pressure soared. In an effort to maintain a semblance of calm in front of a sea of neighborhood moms, I self-medicated.
I purchased some generously poured Country Time and added a dash of that 151 proof. There are only a handful of people in the whole world who regularly get me to exit my comfort zone.
This crew definitely makes the list … poor spelling and all.