Intervention

It is well known that I consider the benefits of pregnancy to be few and far between.  I was reminded of one of them last night upon spilling soiled cat litter all over the floor - the benefit of pregnancy, of course, being that women like Sara are relieved of any responsibility for changing the cat litter for nine whole months.  Of course, should I find myself in Sara's predicament, I would be an unwed mother living alone, and I would have to bribe my downstairs neighbour to come up once a week to take care of it - a favour he would probably refuse in light of the fact that I may have inadvertently referred to his girlfriend as fugly, within both their hearing, at my house warming party.  Where does my filter go?  In fairness to myself, I developed reverse beer goggles that night, and thought my downstairs neighbour, who I would ordinarily describe as kind of dishy, looked like he had Down’s syndrome.  Also, I honestly thought they'd gone. 

On another note, Sara challenged me to drink Smirnoff Ice last Friday in commemoration of the cementing of our friendship.  I was reminded - on Saturday - of why I stopped drinking girlie coolers more than five years ago.  First, there's the horrible sugar crash of a hangover - which I somehow managed to avoid but still.  Second, I don't very much enjoy girlie coolers.  Third, and most importantly, a drink with high alcohol content that goes down easy as 7-Up has the power to very rapidly transition one from functional euphoria to blathering idiocy.  Slow service at bar which compelled me to buy two drinks at a time did not help matters at all.  

In future, I will leave Smirnoff Ice and similar to the intended market of co-eds who are comfortable with the possibility of blacking out and getting date raped.  Which isn't to say I was date raped.  That would have involved having a date.

On the bright side, lesson learned.  No need to schedule an intervention just yet.