You’ll never believe what I found in Redbook magazine…
I don’t normally get Redbook; I prefer my old standbys—Shape, Women’s Running, People, Us, Family Circle, and Highlights High 5—but after I ran across this little gem in an issue that a friend gave me, I might just have to add Redbook to my ever-growing list of subscriptions.
I also like to read while I jog on the treadmill, but that kind of sounds too responsible and healthy for this blog, so I almost left that part out...)
But seriously. If a shitload of clear alcohol dumped unceremoniously into a hollowed-out watermelon (whose insides have been used in the drink!) doesn’t scream SUMMER, then I don’t know what does.
Well, besides the hubs drinking an assload of beer during barbeques with friends and peeing off of the back deck, but perhaps that’s a fond summer memory only shared by my particular family.
In any case, I can take one look at this beaut and know without a doubt that after slamming about 6 of these fruity drinks and smoking about as many ciggies, I’ll have raucous, drunken sex with the hubs, thus relieving me of my wifely duties for at least 3 weeks based on performance alone.
I used to feel bad about my smoking-when-drinking habit (which, unfortunately, has slowed to an almost non-existent point since having kids--but don't worry, I hope to get it back up to par after they're all grown up), until one morning I woke up, yawned, and grimaced. I looked at my husband, who was still half asleep. “Ugh,” I said apologetically. “I feel bad that you had to kiss me last night with this ashtray mouth.”
I watched a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. “I love it when you have cigarette breath. I know you must have had a lot to drink if you’ve been smoking, and I know what normally happens after you’ve had a lot to drink…”
Back in college, the same thing would pretty much happen during Spring Break when we dumped liquor into large, unsuspecting fruits, except that it was usually with some random dude, and I didn’t have to worry about whether I’d have 3 weeks off from performing any duties, since by that time, my gentleman caller was usually long gone, his fake phone number fading on a napkin in my pocket; his white t-shirt the only souvenir that I had of our soon-to-be-forgotten evening together.
Ah, young love.
The other difference between this watermelon and the ones from college is that this one has a spigot.
In college, we had to do all of this annoying chewing and spitting out seeds because the poppable spigots hadn’t yet been invented. But now…look how much time we’ll all save, time that could be better used smoking cigarettes, having drunken sex with our husbands, or simply catching up on our new favorite magazine subscriptions.
I love summer.