when mr. monkey heard my key in the door, he sort of half hoisted himself out of the couch, because the typical way this sort of thing goes is that after a girls' night out i weave my way down the excessively long hallway of our apartment building, enter the premises, and, having exhausted my resources on maintaining some semblance of dignity in the face of whomever is driving me home, promptly collapse in the dirt of our doorway and require the husband to de-boot and then un-pant me (and not in any sort of sexy way, either). he seemed rather stunned that a) i drove myself home and b) i took off my own boots and pants. i looked deep into his eyes and read the relief there - tonight he would not be washing vomit off the walls; tonight, he would not have to physically manhandle me into the shower; mainly, tonight - no vomit.**
so that was last night. tonight we are going out again and i think i will try this new policy of restraint. also, ordering beer seems to help - i simply do not enjoy the stuff enough to get myself accidentally plastered.
* the girl who spilled two of the three glasses of white zinfandel was so loud and obnoxious, she made me feel ladylike. she also scoffed at a particular wine i like which shocked the hell out of me, cause, dude, you're drinking white zinfandel! you have absolutely given up your right to question my wine choices when you ordered the white zinfandel...which you then spilled...twice!
**yeah, like i'm gonna tell you about that! although i might, if my defences are down (translation: if i'm raving drunk)