Soooooooo, last Thursday, my son came home from college for Christmas break. All was well, and my husband and I were happy to have our family unit restored (be it temporarily) to it’s full size.
Friday evening I was sitting on the couch in my happy spot, watching Brian Williams deliver the news, when my son came into the room and sat down next to me. I turned to look at him and discovered that he was sitting down, quite comfortably and confidently, drinking a Michelob (as if it were nothing more than a glass of orange juice).
“Uh, no no no, no, no,” I said, as if he was a two year old reaching for a knife.
To which he replied, “What I drink these all the time at school.” He looked at the bottle appreciatively, “boy, beer sure does taste better out of a bottle then it does from a can.”
This was too much. I stood up and pointed my finger at him. “No, no, you’re not 21.” I paused for a split second as I looked at the beer bottle, then continued, “finish that, because you’ve already opened it. But that’s it. No more! DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN. And when you’re done put that bottle out for recycling before your father sees it.”
“Moooom, I can drink like 6 of these and not feel a thing.”
“I’m sure you can’t feel a thing after 6 of those. Now finish that one up and eat some pretzels.”
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