I am recovering from knee surgery and physical therapy has been beating my butt, and then I walked around Target (bad decision). Saturday I went to lunch and the grocery store. That evening I went to a fancy (semi-stuffy) yet wonderful fundraiser for a free clinic in my town–they had a mashed potato bar, served in martini glasses– and had to do a lot of sitting and standing.
I’d been running around non-stop, which is not good for my knee, or my fibromyalgia. Fibro is all about give and take.
So after the fundraiser, my family and I hit up our local Mexican restaurant for chips and margs. I do not like margaritas because I think they taste like that awful goo they use at the orthodontist to make you a retainer. I opted for water and unlimited chips.
Then my cousin’s husband ordered a Dos Equis. Now, I don’t even like beer. I’m not a huge drinker anyhow, mostly a social drinker. But that beer looked so good and cold in that fancy glass with a vibrant green lime wedge attached to the rim. I asked for a sip. No big deal, just a sip.
Then the waitress came around and I ordered one.
I don’t know what came over me!! Let me preface by saying in my 4 years of being legal drinking age I’ve only ordered a drink 6 different times. Six! Number one, I don’t know much about alcohol, number two, I have no idea what I like because of number one, and number three, drinks are pricey! I’d rather not spend $8 on a juice glass of alcohol I’ll undoubtedly burp up for the following four hours.
Yet I sat flagged the waitress down and ordered a Dos Equis.
Who the heck even am I?
Beer is like the one alcohol with gluten and I chugged, I mean chugged, it down. I’d been doing so good, too.
Oh well. It went down the hatch and I even giggled as I placed my empty cup down. I was like “Hah! Gluten does nothing to me!” *eye roll*