I currently have not a single talent, but the summer after I graduated high school, I did have one. Wow, did I ever!
I could drink beer like a champ. I loved it and I was really good at it. I didn’t have to force it down, and it just came naturally to me. I could out-drink everyone I knew. I honed my skill so much that I couldn’t even remember two entire consecutive days of that summer.
(All of my friends who joined me: you can stop holding your breath; I’m not mentioning any names!)
It’s too bad I didn’t have a talent for being drunk. That would have come in really handy.
I shudder when I think of all the times I drove drunk. I really am lucky to be alive. I was so drunk one time that I drove right through my friend’s mother’s flower beds. (By the way, she made me re-plant her flowers—good for her!)
I have so many stories that are truly hilarious that I could tell about those days, but I’ll stick to my family’s favorites because the others are just too embarrassing, even for me!
The first one I think of is every under-aged drinker’s horror. I had been drinking since heaven knows when one day, and on the way home, I got stopped by a State Trooper for erratic driving. As if that weren’t bad enough, the Trooper shined her flashlight in my backseat and found about eight million beer cans. (I vaguely remembered that everyone, including me, thought it would be really funny to dump all the cans in my car. Yeah. Not so funny when the po-licewoman was looking at it.)
As if THAT weren’t bad enough, guess who pulled up right behind the State Trooper. No, really, guess. It was my father! Can you believe that? That could only happen to me! It turned out to be a blessing, though, because my father talked to the Trooper and she agreed to let him take me home with only a speeding ticket. Now guess how much trouble I was in when I got home. Let’s just say that I considered moving into the local homeless teens’ shelter.
Another of my family’s favorite stories is about the morning my sister looked out the bathroom window, came downstairs, and asked about the location of my parked car. Of course, everyone went to the window, and there was my car, parked right in the middle of the front yard! Why is it that the earth never actually opens and swallows you up when you need it to?
Okay, the final story is the Queen Mother of all the favorite “Missy Drunk Stories” in my family. My mother had gone out of town and my father was out stealing something. He figured that my younger sister and I were responsible enough to stay alone at home. WRONG! My sister was definitely responsible enough, but I wasn’t even close.
I invited a couple friends over and we drank beer all night. I had so much fun--until I passed out.
Then I woke up because I had to go to the bathroom.
In my drunken stupor, I walked into my sister’s bedroom and saw her white wicker nightstand. White wicker must have equalled white porcelain in my Miller Lite fogged–up brain, because I pulled down my pants, backed up to the “porcelain” nightstand and proceeded to pee all over it! I shorted-out the controls to her electric blanket and puffs of smoke were rising up into my you-know-what. And here’s the REALLY bad part: I peed all over the Bible! The Bible!
I have a vague remembrance of my friend laughing hysterically and my sister screaming, equally hysterically. My sister made me get a bucket of soapy water to clean it up. The last thing I remember about that night is passing out in the Spic-N-Span.
Thank goodness I became an active Mormon again and don't touch alcohol. Trust me, wicker doesn't make a good toilet.
(This was written as part of a meme for the Red Dress Club.)