7 and 7

My mom has started drinking again. That sounded bad, in an Al-Anon way. Really way more innocent, it’s just that after years of chemo and an unbelievable number of prescription drugs she realized that life without bourbon? Not so much with the “worth it”.

In the ’70s, when she was hanging with her ridiculously preppy crowd, she was quite fond of a combination of 7 Up and triple sec ETA: 7 Crown. I’m stupid, in a way that only Barry Manilow and Advil Cold and Sinus have been able to gain her fondness since. (I think my brother and sister and I come close. But I’m not sure. She loves the Manilow. She would leave my father to enter into a sexless union with him. Which is actually how I prefer to think of their union, but that’s my perogative as a daughter.)

So when she started having drinks again, my dad would make those for her. Tonight, he made one that was too large. Being the lovingly frugal daughter that I am, I would hate to see a perfectly good drink go to waste, and offered to drink it, after it was strengthened somewhat because I am on no prescription drugs and don’t like soda, so yeah, if you could make that taste go away, that’d be awesome.

And it is tasty. It is really too bad I’m the only lush in my group of friends (which in a weird twist of fate includes the daughter of one of the women who was also fond of the brown drink thrity years ago), because this could become a bonding experience. I’ll give Keelin a couple of years. Then she needs to try this.

Shut up. I know I’m a corrupting influence.

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