Nothing makes you feel more like an alcoholic than standing in the “alcohol line” at Kroger waiting until 12:31 to pay for your sin (champagne for mimosas to drink during a crafting party) and having all the other people that come up to the line told if they don’t have alcohol they can come on through.
So there I stood. Stood next to the little old ladies with their bottles of White Zinfandel who complained that they just “wanted to purchase a little bit of their Sunday juice.” Stood while eyes of judgment from the good people, dressed like they just got out of church, judgment and disdain bore into my skull and at my hand holding the glistening bottle of sin. I’m sorry, church people. I’m sorry. Sheesh.
Sunday mimosa fail. I never knew that ten minutes could feel so long.