Some days I just need a little pick-me-up. I've recently learned that I am a much better mom if I have a cocktail with dinner. Yes, that sounds really bad. I'm not a big drinker, so half a drink will do it. I'm averaging either a glass of wine or part of a cocktail once or twice a week these days, and thoroughly enjoying my new drinking habit. A funny thing happened though.
We went for dinner at a local family-friendly burger chain. Hayden needed to go to the bathroom when we arrived (since it isn't possible to order a meal unless he knows what the bathroom looks like) and he wanted Fillip to take him. I told him Daddy wasn't available because he was ordering Mommy a drink. Fillip said that was true, very agreeable to the option of selecting my cocktail over managing a toddler at a urinal. Well, when we returned to the table, the prepubescent waitress came over apologetically requesting to see my i.d. My i.d! Hah! That's a good one! No, seriously, she needed to see my i.d. or couldn't serve me a drink. Maybe she didn't realize that the happiness of my family depends on it. Maybe she didn't realize that the shaky balance of my very sanity rests on this cocktail. Whether she realized it or not, I had not brought my purse. My driver's license, that precious document that not only verifies that I am old enough to order a drink, but to also serve in the U.S. Senate, was at home. So, no drink for me. Did I want a blended virgin cocktail, came the very chipper suggestion. No thanks. That would just be wasted calories.
All of her repeated apologies were met with a gracious "That's ok, you're just doing your job." She doesn't know that she managed to counteract numerous strangers greeting me as ma'am, the demise of my ability to shop at Forever 21, or the dubious honor of being a Matron of Honor at my niece's wedding.
She got a rockin' good tip!!