99 bottles of beer on the wall…or vodka stashed in the closet

19 12 2012

I will forgo the usual and somewhat mundane litany of excuses and just get back to the story!

All seemed well at the cocktail party, and he came back to the house that night after being banished for 5 nights, however I went and snuggled up with Clare in her bed. I was mentally shattered and instantly fell into a deep deep dream-less drooling slumber.

At 3 am something woke me up and I see Mort staggering into Clare’s bedroom, fully dressed (though not the same clothes from the night before)…he was saying “are you looking forward to your dinner?” I hissed a torrent of expletives being mindful to not awaken Clare. He looked confused and staggered out. I lay there in my heavy slumber half wondering if I had dreamt it, but the heavy pounding of my heart in my ears confirmed that it was all very real. I was so so so tired so instead of springing out of bed, I fell back asleep. Only to be awoken by the exact same scenario an hour later. I mean literally the same…this time adrenaline trumped sleep and I leapt from the bed and dragged him out of Clare’s room to find space where I could explode.

While I wanted to throw him out instantly, he was clearly delusional and as much as I didn’t want to look at his face I also didn’t want to put him behind the wheel of a car for the safety of others.

So instead we attempted to have a conversation…at this point I have to exercise the censorship clause and not repeat the conversation verbatim because every second word out of my mouth was the omnipotent “Fuck” utilized to its full capacity as a pronoun, verb, noun, pretense, adverb, adjective and just almighty wail.

He attempted to explain his state was to be blamed solely on taking the doctors prescribed medication….oh yep sure…I then did a quick check of the pantry.

I had purchased a case of wine coming into the festive season…it had been sitting dead warm…two bottles were missing…again, warm white wine (sends a shiver down my spine…it obviously did for him too but his was of anticipation and not disgust.) He wasn’t even bothering to hide the evidence.

I made several comments about how I was quite sure that the doctor had not recommended washing down the medication with alcohol. He then stood there and got in the loop of ridiculous questioning about why was I so mad and what had he done wrong.

This was a pivotal moment….the first initiation of physical contact….and it was by me…it wasn’t a hug.

I asked him ever so politely in my Darth Vadar voice to remove his glasses and I pre-warned him that I was going to slap him across the face. He did and I slapped….then I went and grabbed his bag that was still packed and called him a cab….after he left I raided the closet, looking into pockets, drawers, crevaces…..I found 17 mini Smirnoff vodka bottles. I should have slapped him one time for each 50ml worth of deception.




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