September 18, 2009

Fact is Better: How My Torried Love Affair with Whiskey Began

A new book about my adventures in alochol is brewing, and I was curious about what my first taste of alcohol was. Assuming it was wine in sixth grade (my parents were super European, and believed in drinking wine with dinner - even me, a twelve year old), I asked my mom. She quickly explained that I was a lush from the git-go of my life.

Me: “What was my first experience with alcohol?”
Mom: “Why would you need to know that?”
Me: “Humor me, Dell.”
Mom: “. . .what’s your first memory with alcohol?”
Me: “Wine in sixth grade.”
Mom: “Okay. Wine in sixth grade it is then.”
Me: “. . .what should be first memory of alcohol be?”
Mom: “Well . . . alright . . . so, we used to rub whiskey on your gums when Anbesol wouldn’t work. This option came via Bob and Anita.”
Me: “THE TWO FRENCH GRANDPARENTS?!? The God-fearing, law-abiding, conservative French grandparents?!?”
Mom: “I believe the phrase used by not one, but BOTH of the Frenchies – on separate occasions in different months and with no knowledge that the other had said it was, and I quote, ‘You want her to sleep, don’t you?’ Damn smart, those French.”
Me: “This keeps getting better and better.”
Mom: “Apparently, other wise French people rubbed a whiskey finger or two on the teething Bob and Anita when they were wee French babies because there was no Anbesol or Orajel.”
Me: “Then they rubbed whiskey on you and dad’s gums, then you guys rubbed whiskey on me and Cari’s gums?”
Mom: “Well, by the time you guys were around Orajel worked great. There were just those few times that it just didn’t work, so whiskey it was. Funny we didn’t even have whiskey in the house. My Dad [Bob] gave us the whiskey in a little Tupperware mini container. We kept it in our fridge through three moves – just in case.”
Me: “So you’re the reason why I was a drunkard on whiskey.”
Mom: “Nope. Your grandparents were. And you were a lot nicer of a little kid with whiskey in your system. I’m sure the same was true when you were drinking it as an adult.”
Me: “Burn.”
Mom: “Truth hurts, Weffla. Deal with it.”

True story.

Further proof that fact is better than fiction.