Charity begins at home

The thing about wine tastings is that you end up consuming a large amount of teeny tiny glasses of wine. (Because really, who actually dumps the rest of their sample into that little bucket they provide for you? Seriously). And when your good friend is working the event as a pourer, and decides to stay and snag a few of the leftover open bottles for a table full of suburban moms who don't get out much, the party really get hopping.

Yesterday morning was one of those mornings where you wish you had died in the middle of the night rather than open your eyes. Or even lift your head. I managed to get out of bed to first of all pee, (so I wasn't that dehydrated, wtf?) grab a bottle of Gatorade, and take the maximum allowable dose of ibuprofen I could without landing in the hospital.

I'm a bit disturbed that I got so drunk in front of a bunch of other parents I don't know well. I guess it didn't help I had the Grey Goose gimlet during the cocktail hour. Oh, and there was the round of peach schnapps that my husband bought for our little crew of cackling soccer moms. I emailed my friend this morning to see if I need to do any damage control, lest I find myself a "blind item" in our local gazette's equivalent of Page Six:

"A certain coach's wife had herself quite the good time at the playground fundraiser event last night. She spent most of the evening at the California table, flexing her biceps while she pranced about in her "f*ck me pumps." On lookers where a bit aghast when she outbid another prominent town couple at the auction, calling out, "How bad do you want it Tony?"

I'm making that up of course. Well, embellishing. Forget drinking and driving, friends don't let friends drink and bid on multiple silent auction items. I am now the proud owner of a Paul Mitchell product basket, (Squee!) a $100 gift certificate to a jewelry store that I only had to pay $70 for, and a complete backyard tent set up for my summer BBQ.

I at least knew enough to order water at the after-party.