I had been doing SO GOOD. Nary a drop of Jesus Juice since returning from Grammy’s, and loving the effects: Feeling better upon the usual hellishness of waking in the morning, more energy, less bloating, less red-eye, clearer skin, actual motivation to pick up after myself around the house, actual motivation to be productive, etc. It had been a week and a half and I had that cleaned-out, super-happy, I-so-have-my-shizzle-together! feeling.
And then it happened.
The raging baby shower.
Yeah, that sound you hear is the collective laughter of Valley Girl readers from all over the globe laughing their asses off that I would be so weakened to imbibe at a friggin’ BABY SHOWER. ON A SCHOOL NIGHT, EVEN.
But let me explain. Shut up, stop laughing! I’m sure!
The baby shower was held at this totally swank place -- the type of place that hires a team of lighting stylists to get the interior lighting just so perfect that every diner looks perfectly glowy, tan and fabulous. Each course offered a beautifully presented chi-chi serving of delight that melted in your mouth. So when the sommelier recommended and poured a delicate, but jovial syrah for our sipping pleasure, who the hell was I to say no to a sip? And when our server, with the quiet stealthiness of a ninja treading on 500-thread count pillows kept my glass bottomless, how on earth was I supposed to know how much I was consuming?
Until this morning, when I felt how much I had consumed. Even though it was expensive, apparently I consumed a lot, and am not feeling so swift today. And so, Valley Girl hangs her head in dumbassery, and hops back on the wagon. Lesson learned.