I arrived home today at the typical time, half past five-ish, to an odd aroma. Scaling the stairs, I immediately knew something was afoot. Generally, each morning upon waking up, the whiff of Folger's in my cup gets me off and running to the shower, the sink, the breakfast nook and out the door.
But why on this sun-soaked late summer afternoon was a pot of coffee brewing? At first the thought was discounted as there were still donuts lying around from Saturday morning. After all, what's better than a coffee with a couple days old donut? As the usual post-work chit chat with mom and dad transpired, my curiosity was peaked. There was Cathy Boyd, the queen of Chardonnay, lounging in the rickety old rocking chair watching her soap with a glass of iced cranberry juice.
"We quit drinking wine," she said. Funny enough, I hadn't even asked. While laughter crept from my lips, the Chianti Cowboy Ed Boyd added "We only spend 300 dollars a month on wine."
Before I go any further, 300 dollars a month for wine isn't much, especially when considering the high end options one has when drinking these grapes of wrath. But, when you spend 300 dollars a month on Franzia, the tables have turned a bit.
Judging by Paul's calculation, that's roughly 25 boxes a month. For two of them. So here are my parents, one 70 and the other nearing 57, drinking 12-1/2 boxes of wine each every 30 days. My liver hurts just thinking about it.
It's this fact that makes me question my future. For the past two years or so I've lived a relatively subtle life in my parents' home. They stay out of my business and I stay out of theirs. If this new found sobriety of theirs changes that...I'm not sure how I'll continue.
No more walking downstairs on a Friday night at 8pm to go out and seeing them passed out on the porch. Gone are the days of the dog being the only sober person at 7am on Saturdays. And out the window is the idea of drinking myself to oblivion during family gatherings just to get through it. Well, I guess I'll still do it but I won't have my mom there to commiserate.
You'd think I'd be happy at my parents' decision to quit drinking. But there are constants in life. Death, taxes, and my parents hazed. So goodbye, drunk mom and dad, you'll be missed.
I'm gonna get some Franzia.
3 comments:
So your dad married a women 13 years younger than him. Nice. Is that how you got your boyish good looks?
J. Heez
I'll miss the stories, that's for damn sure.
Gearin up for the post tonight even though it will probably suck.
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