When at last the memories of last night started piecing themselves together, I felt quite proud of myself. It must be the Cajun in me, but when I get a substantial amount of booze in me, I'm ready to fight. And there is no one in this world I love to fight with more than my darling husband. So when I realized that I'd gone through an entire St. Patrick's Day of bar hopping without trying to knock him out in the street, I felt somewhat accomplished.
"Love you," I murmured sleepily, throwing a leaden arm over my husband's shoulders and shoving my face into his back.
The festivities began spontaneously at around 6:00, when we called our friend J and announced that we would be going to The Ginger Man, our favorite pub famous for wonderfully fattening imported beers, for St. Patrick's Day. J agreed, and soon enough the three of us were crammed into my Pontiac, singing our lungs out, most appropriately, to Flogging Molly.
Expectedly, the bar was completely packed - and they were out of Guiness. I'm not the biggest fan of Guiness (I think it tastes sort of gummy and burnt) but J really wanted one, so we knocked back some Spaten Optimators, allowing only enough time to absorb the rich, tart taste of the beer before we got back in the car and returned to the apartment. Ben and I live downtown, so we decided (wisely) that the safest thing we could do would be to park the car and walk to the rest of the bars downtown. Sure, we might have to stumble drunkenly back and risk some skinned knees, but it beat a DUI any day. Plus, nobody had to be the driver this way, and everyone liked that idea.
Billy Miner's came next. Ever had an Irish carbomb? Well, I did, and it was freaking nasty. Picture it: a shudder-inducing mixture of Bailey's Irish Creme and Irish Whiskey, dropped into half a glass of Guiness. Ugh. Well, we had two of those, and I had some drink called Sex with an Alligator, which was actually just as green and brown and interesting as it sounds. At this point, things began to get a little hazy.
Ben, J, and I staggered out of Billy Miner's around 11:00, sufficiently buzzed. Ben and J saw a group of motorcycles parked outside of the next bar, and Ben decided to declare how he was going to get one.
"Stupid!" I snapped, smacking him on the arm. "Do you want to waste all or money, or kill yourself, or both?" The signs of drunken Cajun bitchiness began to emerge.
Then, my wonderful husband did something I must remember to thank him for. He grabbed me by the shoulders, hard, and said, "Look, you are NOT going to get pissy tonight! Got it?"
And I did. We went to the next bar and I was in such a damn good mood, joking around and telling the bartender how great the drinks were, that I scored us a round of free drinks. Well, maybe it was J winking slyly at the bartender behind all our backs, but I'd like to think it was my uncharacteristic extroversion that did it.
Now, this may not seem like much of a breakthrough to you, but for me, this was major. Here's the thing - I like to fight. A lot. For me it's like conversation. You're sharing your problems, only louder and faster than you would ordinarily. I think part of me constantly holds back this urge to scream at everyone, pretty much all day long. So, of course, nearly every time I drink, the floodgates are opened. I wouldn't call myself an angry drunk. Just an excessively cranky one.
Because I'm so comfortable with my husband, he's always on the receiving end of this raw tide of emotion. Usually, he takes it entirely wrong. If I'm snapping at him, I'm not mad, per se... I'm just being snappy. Usually he goes all silent and starts sulking and won't speak to me again until I apologize. I don't want this. I want fireworks that match mine.
Apparently, this doesn't work for everyone. So my husband did the next best thing he could do for me, besides getting into a fabulous sparring match. He snapped me out of it. And in doing that - in standing up to me - my night ended up being amazing. Imagine that. Maybe that's what I really need to be happy - someone to stand up to me. I think that's how it has to be with any close relationship I'm in. You either stand up to the temper, or you crumble beneath it. Luckily, I haven't managed to break Ben yet.
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