Twice in the past few months, Willem and I have gotten a sitter and gone out to dinner, and then gone to WalMart to get the various assorted randomness that you can only get at WalMart... a potty seat, a flashlight, some milk, some birdseed...

The difference is, this time, I was well past buzzed, having had two margaritas at dinner. Which is two margaritas' more alcohol than I've had in eight years.

Wheeeeeeee... I tell you what, WalMart is a LOT funnier when you're drunk. Or, at least, when I'm drunk. I don't know about you.

Before the buzz descended upon me, leaving me defenseless and with a goofy grin, I tried to use the childless dinner as an opportunity to bring up some fairly big topics that I wanted to discuss with Willem. He's verging on sick, which, given his testosteronosity, means that he is well enough to drink beer and have sex but far too sick to hold a serious conversation. So, okay, let's giggle about past indiscretions and make fun of the kids in their absence. Whatever works.

Tomorrow, I suspect, I will remember why it was that I went so long without drinking. But right now, I'm just basking in the glory that is the two-drink drunk.

Edited to clarify: "The Plateau of Unhealthiness" was my term last night for my college years; I was neither improving myself as a human being nor sliding into the depths of depravity, but instead merely existing on this plateau of unhealthiness. We thought it sounded like a good name for a book. (It would be Part Two in the series beginning with "Unexpectedly in Iowa," right, Rose?) Plenty of light indiscretion-filled conversation topics from that time period.