As some of you may be aware, British pubs are oftentimes named after animals such as the ‘The White Horse Inn’, the ‘Fox and Hound’, or the ‘Bear and Badger’. There’s also the ‘Bishop and the Actress’ but that’s a whole different story that likely only the Brits will get … [it's kind of an older version of "That's what she said".] Somehow this eventually led to the expression “cock and bull story”, meaning an interesting but highly implausible story. I promise you, however, the following story is absolutely true! The fanciful title just happened to work for me.

Morning sickness … it’s not just for the pregnant any more!

My first step towards accidental alcoholism came when I was roughly 8 years of age. My parents had held a rare party at the house and even more rare my mother had gone to bed without cleaning up. Thus it came to pass that the next morning a sleepy 8-year old girl stumbled into the kitchen in search of a glass of water, spied one sitting conveniently on the kitchen worktop, and helped herself to a lovely big gulp. Only it wasn’t water … it was either gin or vodka, I don’t remember which and I was too drunk at the time to make note of it. According to an eyewitness, but sadly lost to my own memory, I performed a brief but impressive concerto on an imaginary piano before grabbing a bucket, swinging the bucket and myself around in circles, and then puking … all while my family looked on in horror.

A couple of mornings ago I took an abrupt descent into intermediate alcoholism … for about 9 years in Houston I would go to my hole-in-the-wall dance club almost every Friday night which is when they play the type of music I like to dance to [80s alternative, formerly known as "New Wave" in the actual 80s]. Unlike most people I cannot dance worth a damn if I drink, so I restrict myself to one small cocktail [rotgut vodka and Red Bull] just to take off the edge. I like that combination because I get an energy boost from the Red Bull but the vodka mellows it out enough so I don’t hang from the ceiling by my fingernails. I’m highly caffeine-intolerant so when I pop open a can of Red Bull I then decant it into a plastic soda bottle, screw the cap on tightly, and ration it out to myself about 1-ounce at a time over the course of a week or three. To give you an idea of how long it lasts, I bought a case of Red Bull at Sam’s Club about 18 months ago, there are six cans left plus the half-drank bottle in the fridge.

On nights that I simply couldn’t bring myself to drive to the club I’d sometimes dance at home instead; barefoot and by candlelight. I’ve kept up that tradition since moving to Boise and sometimes I’ll have my cocktail [if I can afford the ultra-cheap vodka which begs to be drowned in some kind of mixer] and at others I’ll just substitute orange-flavoured sparkling water for the vodka. I can’t always finish either the cocktail or the virgin version of it and I hate to waste the relatively expensive Red Bull, so I slap foil over the glass and in the fridge it goes. Usually I’ll have the virgin cocktail with breakfast the next day or the vodka cocktail pre-dinner because I am that sophisticated. I know, I’m a Wild One alright!

I happened to have some leftover orange juice in a plastic take-away cup on Sunday morning as well as one of my virgin cocktails and I decided it would make a lovely drink to go with my 9-grain toast. I poured them together and took a lovely big Good Morning!-sized gulp … only I’d somehow conveniently forgotten that there was, in fact, vodka in the drink. Which I proceeded to elegantly splutter all over myself.

Looks like I’ll be headed to rehab any day now.