Holly, Drink! My Education

So there I was, about ten years behind in the drinking department. Part of it was biblical sanctions against all-out drunkenness, and part of it was just a dislike for the taste of alcohol. On my last birthday, though, I thought I'd find out what kind of effect a drink or two would have on me. And who better to show me the ropes than my brother and his now-wife? They took me shopping on Newbury St., and to keep warm we had Dunkin Donuts hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey's Irish Cream. (Those last two ingredients were not purchased at Dunkin Donuts. But who knows, maybe this winter Irish Hot Chocolate will replace those fruit smoothies they're selling now. "America Staggers on Dunkin.")

That night I felt like doing something brave, so a group of us went to a Chinese restaurant that had karaoke. Here I had my second drink of the day, a Mudslide I think, which turned off that annoying Voice in my head that's always asking if something is a good idea and ruining my fun. I would have done the karaoke anyway, but without Mr. Voice I was less nervous. So up I went. I know you're all dying to know what I sang. Because of my classical music background, I chose a cycle of Schubert lieder. My voice isn't trained, but I have an affinity for the German language that I think helped make up for that. OK, I made that up. I sang Mary Chapin Carpenter's "Shut Up and Kiss Me." Yeah I did, baby.

My next big lesson in the art of imbibing came several months later when I went to visit J & L -- my coaches -- in Texas. A bunch of us went tubing down the river in San Antonio. They give you an extra tube for your beverages (read: BEvERages). I don't like beer, so J & L made me my own drink, orange juice with coconut rum. It was in one of those big Tupperware-like drink containers, the kind you can hold with two hands, like a grown-up sippy cup. The thing is, I still don't get excited about liquids, so I can make even a glass of wine last for hours. Moving this slowly defeats the purpose of having a drink (unless your purpose is to give your hands something to do so they don't merely hang, awkward and limp, at your sides -- which, hey, is a legitimate purpose). J knows what a rule-follower I am, though, so he introduced me to a game and told me that it was very, very important that I follow the rules. It's quite a complicated game, but I'll try to summarize it for you here:

1. Someone will call a person by name -- let's say, just for example, Holly -- and tell them to drink. In this case, it would sound like, "Holly, drink!"
2. The person then says, "Okay," and takes a drink.

Follow that OK? Read it again if you have to.

J & L played this game with me all the way down the river. I picked it up pretty quickly, because I'm clever. By the end of the trip, I'd drunk almost all of it, though J & L did help me out a bit because they found the orange-coconut combo quite tasty. I was fine, though. Mellow, but fine.

[A little side note: This was a very dirty river. Hundreds of people on a body of water, for 4 hours at a time, drinking lots of alcohol, and not a restroom in sight. You can do the math. There's a reason why folks were in tubes and not kayaks.]

Oh, and I was quite the crispy critter later that afternoon. People who saw my pale New England self out in the Texas sun kept saying, "Oh, honey, you're gonna burn." They were right. Yow.

Epilogue: You've already read about the rehearsal dinner, so you've now got the whole story of me and my Indoctrination into Inebriation. I'm still quite tame, which is OK with me. At least now I know how to have a little fun and not be boring at a party. Now let's see: I learned how to dress at 30, how to drink at 31... maybe by next year I'll learn how to talk to boys without blushing and hiding behind my algebra textbook.