I must have been pissed last night. In fact, I have absolutely no doubt.
I'm a firm believer in spontaneity being the spice of life, you see.
Yesterday, I'd had a long day. I'd taught more children than I'd like to remember. I'd arisen before the alarm clock sounded. I'd done everything that was expected of me: made lunches for The Daughter, The Husband and myself (shock! Horror! Did not have bean roti from across the street), had dressed weather appropriately. But. Was. Knackered.
I'd intended to cook my second favourite meal: fish and potato wedges (the first being spag bol). But my phone rang just as The Daughter and I were getting into our afternoon nap dream session.
Carlos: Pant. What you doing?
The Pant: Afternoon nap. I expect you to be down in 20 preparing afternoon gins.... Wait... We're not on holiday anymore. What are you doing?
C: I'm at the shop. Are you cooking us a Pant and People Reunion Dinner.
TP: Sure. If you'd like box fish and chips (preparation time = zero).
C: No. I want your Thai Green Curry. What must I get?
After listing the ingredients over the phone, I settled down to my quiet afternoon tea and twak. At which point The Husband (actually The Brother - it's a long story) returned from work:
The Brother: What's for dinner? I'm effing starving. And if it's not ready in 10 please hurry. Because I'm going out for man beers with my Very Hot Man Friend. (He didn't use those words exactly. But I report with as much salt as I deem necessary.)
TP: It's Thai Green. We're dining with The BF, my people, and Carlos.
TB: Cool, I'll invite my Very Hot Man Friend for dinner. Then I'll go out.
So we dined. The BF, my people, and I chatted. The boys chatted. We met outdoors for inter-gender cigarette smoking sessions. And after Man and Chick Talk, we sat around together and just, really, chatted. But it was that kind of chinwag where you feel cleansed after. I suppose it had balance about it: a touch emotional, a touch work-related and piles super effing funny.
For the record, it's just the best to have my people back. I dig it here. The Pant = a happy happy girl.
But the wine flowed like, well, wine.
Anyway, I had just three glasses. And not even big ones. Hic. Huge effing hic. The Pant is such a loser drinker that when I went to have pre-sleep bath (she may forget to floss, but she never goes to bed dirty), I looked at myself in the mirror. And I honestly thought, "You look kind of pretty. You're a bit of alright."
I thought I was so attractive I poured myself a bubble bath and lit candles. (A jolly romantic bath it was too.)
And this is why I know I must have been pissed. Because The Pant is Down With Love because she is Down With Self-Esteem. She has, of late, felt, well to put it bluntly, ugly.
Balls to that! That's a whole bunch of bullshit on so many levels.
So the kiff part is I've learnt that being pissed is actually good for you.
It makes you feel good about yourself.