Because I was up and on the road for a 6 hour drive at the crack of ass this morning and will be back up at the crack of ass in the morning for another 6 hour drive back home after 5 hours of work is done…I was showered and ready for bed at 6:00 pm tonight.
Then at about 6:25 pm, I got up.
And took off my pj’s and put my clothes back on.
And grabbed my purse and literally tiptoed to the hotel elevator.
Then down to the hotel bar.
(Very stealthily. Very.)
(Kinda sleuth-ish looking.)
(Which wouldn’t make me a sleuth because if I was I’d be good enough to not look like one, right?)
I had to have it. Couldn’t wait any longer.
Anyway…I walked up to the bar in my sexy, stretchy yoga pants, wrinkled shirt and flip flops.
(Stunning, I tell you. A creature of beauty.)
And then I shimmied between the barstools, and took a seat. I leaned over the bar and spoke. In a very quiet, whisper-ishy way I said these words to the bartender:
“I’d like a can of Dr. Pepper. Not the fountain drink kind. A can. And a full glass of ice. With a straw. I will pay cash and this is not to be charged to my room. There is to be no record of this. I’ll take it with me.”
She just stared with a puzzled look.
After about 17 seconds, I smiled and then whispered, “Hurry it up, honey. Let’s move.”
She came back with the loot as instructed.
(Did I just say “loot”?)
Then I paid $2.00 for a Dr. Pepper and snuck it back up to my room.
Two whole dollars.
For one whole can.
(I need help.)
I have to stop. This is now cutting into my girl’s college tuition at $2.00 a can. Destroying my family.
Up until a few months ago, I hadn’t had any kind of soft drink in over 3 (or maybe even 4) years.
Four thousand years ago when I was trying to have babies and couldn’t because my uterus hated me (that asshat) and my ovaries were on it’s side (bitches), the docs discovered through surgeries, I only have one kidney.
This ain’t no sob story. That bad boy is the king of all kidneys. Never a problem and never an issue.
It’s a big ass bully to all other kidneys.
I just freaked a bit and went into OH-MY-GOD-WHAT-IF-THIS-KIDNEY-FAILS-I-DON’T-HAVE-A-BACKUP-AND-NOBODY-LIKES-ME-ENOUGH-TO-GIVE-ME-ONE-OF-THEIRS-BECAUSE-WHO-REALLY-SAYS-HERE-HAVE-A-KIDNEY-AND-CONSIDER-IT-A-GIFT mode.
So, I only drank water and cranberry juice.
(Well, only that if you don’t count the occasional glass of wine or eight.)
Then Keith brought home the crack.
Yep. He’s not only my husband, but also my pusher.
It started out with, “Oh, just one a weekend won’t hurt a thing.”
(And that first sip felt like acid burning all the way into my intestines.)
A few months later? I’ve had 2 today alone.
And now I’m sneaking down to hotel bars and paying cash so there’s no paper trail.
(Admitting you have a problem is the first step, ain’t it?)
(Is this considered admitting?)
(Don’t answer that if you think it is.)
(I’m not sure I’m ready to admit.)
(It could have been worse.)
(But isn’t that what every addict says about their not-really-an-addiction-to-them-because-they-can-stop-any-time-they-want addiction?)
(OH, GOD I’M OUT OF CONTROL AND MY GIRL WILL BE UNEDUCATED AND MY FAMILY WILL BE HITTING ROCK BOTTOM ALL BECAUSE OF MY SNEAKING AROUND WITH A CAN OF DR. PEPPER!)
Wait. No way do I have THAT much influence over anything.
Screw it. I’m fine.