I couldn't wait to turn twenty-one. The real proof of maturity was being able to belly on up to the bar and order a Bud. Selections of the adult beverage of choice did not include chocolate martinis or cosmopolitans. We were limited to beer, the three musketeers of hard liquor with either orange juice or soda, and a fine selection of screw top wines. We had one size jumbo glasses. It wasn't the bartender's fault if we overindulged. When we did, he took our keys and called someone. Ah, the good old days.

 

Upon my recent retirement, my niece arranged a surprise (astonishment) party for me. It was beautifully done, and people traveled through the worst storm of the year to attend. It was held at my old stomping ground, the local club. Something happens to me when I relive moments of my past. I accepted a rum and coke and flitted around like Cindy Lauper. I saw people I hadn't seen in years. As in all rekindled life experiences, I began to digress to a much younger mindset. I ordered a glass of wine. The bartender, whom I had never seen before, handed me a stemmed glass with about an inch of sparkling liquid in it. My displeasure must have been evident, because after I downed the mouthful, my glass was refilled without question. I swaggered over to chat with my guests, feeling like I owned the place.

 

If memory serves me correctly, I believe this was about the time my knee stopped bothering me. I also found that I had a little more spring in my step. I saw a few of my nephew's friends gathered in a corner, snickering at their parents trying to relive the past. Young whippersnappers, I thought smugly. Someone handed me a mike and the crowd went wild. "Speech! Speech!" I had waited for this moment for close to forty years. I was not new to public speaking, as I have been a trainer/instructor for years, so I cannot blame my bumbling of the moment on nerves. I thanked everybobby for coming, stood like a deer caught in headlights for a couple of minutes, and thanked them again.

 

Someone handed me another stemmed glass, full to the brim. I found another smoker and went outside in the blizzard to discuss our second class citizen status. I remember several other non-smokers joining us, and thinking they really should be more considerate by leaving us alone to kill ourselves. I get a little snippy when I drink.

 

The party was in full swing. My God these people were loud. I lost my wine. I don't know if I drank it, spilled it, or gave it away, but I bellied on up to the bar and got another. The bartender had a little attitude by this time, so I stiffed him. My niece must have found out about this, because she ushered me over to the cake table. The picture on the cake depicted a shapely blond that looked a lot like I felt. Did I mention my rotor cuff problem had disappeared? I cut the cake without falling into it, and the crowd must have taken that as a polite suggestion to leave, because in what seemed like minutes, the club was pretty much empty. I don't remember if I said goodbye to anyone, because I was busy challenging the bartender to step outside. The arthritis in my hands had miraculously disappeared.

 

I still don't know how I got home, but a massive glob of my mascara was smudged on my pillow, which led me to believe I must have had a crying jag at some point. I noticed my lip was swollen, apparently from whacking myself in the mouth with the mike during my speech. I had a few questions for my family when I staggered downstairs, but not wanting to embarrass myself any further, I decided to try to piece the evening together by their comments. I abandoned this after my sister asked me why the dog was playing out in the yard with my boot. My nephew purposely dropped a large metal pan on the floor, and my niece just glared. I avoided their children.

 

I must admit I underestimated the effects of a couple of drinks. If I ever had eaten anything that made me that sick, I would never have eaten it again, at any age. I guess the onset of dementia caused me to forget the morning after. In my youth, I would have considered the hair of the dog, but at this moment in time I considered a bullet to the brain. Someone suggested around 2 PM that we take a ride to the mall. Gathering up what remaining dignity I had, I rose from the couch, experiencing the most excruciating head rush I had ever had, and crawled up to bed with my water IV. I remained there for 14 hours, cursing myself, my family, my friends, the dog, and the wrath of grapes.

 

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