So I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when my daughter pointed to a party of partying partiers at the now back-to-normal corner of the bar, where the play had just been. “Oh look! How cute! They have a list of things for their mom to do on her birthday,” says Ginger.
Now, I have been pretty committed to acting my age, for a long long time. But OUCH! What was that little stabbing pain in my neck? Apparently it was the (really cute) little devil on my shoulder! Who invited her? And off I skipped (not literally, at least) to ask these happy strangers what was on their mama’s Birthday To-Do List.
Do you see the check mark on #4? That was me. After studying the list of 48 things she needed to accomplish this night, I challenged the Birthday Girl to an arm-wrestling contest. I did whisper that I’d let her win, just in case she thought I was a serious contender. So I tied my paisley pashmina around my head like a Middle-Aged Warrior Queen, and got straight to it. Everyone at the bar chanted, and I spectacularly lost to Elena, a lively and obviously cherished Latina Mamacita.
Do you see these empty snifters? I am very sorry to tell you that they once held shots of Goldschlager.
ginnygram 