Which doesn’t really pertain to me since I am hardly classy, even though I am definitely fabulous *snicker*… I’m more of the “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.”

I grew up in a small town, in the country, where, as a teenager, drinking is a very busy past time. The tolerance for alcohol, for most people, is still pretty high - why, with all the practice to be had. Every weekend there seemed to be a party, a stag and doe, a ball tournament (always with beer gardens) or a wedding. A reason to drink.

I too have indulged; and am (or was) able to go head to head with the best of them. When I moved away to college, friends were in awe of my ability to just keep drinking. I owed it all to small town country life.

This weekend was no exception.

My high school best friend and her high school sweetheart tied the knot; the wedding, themed “Ten Years in the Making” was just that. I remember walking the halls of our high school at sixteen with said friend and scoping out the older boys hanging out by their lockers between class. We’d always take the long route, just so we could walk past, to catch a glimpse of these boys.

The two we crushed on were three and four years older then us; basketball players (as were we) and oh! so! gorgeous! (Still are.) and when I hooked up with my hottie, I worked very hard to get him to help me get my friend and her crush together. When all was said and done between my crush and I (another sad, and long story) they were still going strong.

Now, ten years later, they’ve finally married; and I couldn’t be happier for them. I was giddy as soon as I saw her come down the aisle.

I showed them just how happy I was by drinking their bar dry at the wedding.

Okay, so slightly exaggerated.

But when they are serving BOTTLES instead of just GLASSES of wine. That’s when the trouble begins to brew.
I did the only thing I know how: took complete advantage of the situation.

Boy, did I ever.

Thankfully, my husband loves me so much. Bless his cold, black and shriveled little heart because I was a force to be reckon with after consuming a few too many bottles of wine. I was incoherent, belligerent and down right drunk.

And he did what he does best. Bosses me around.

[I love when he does that. Especially in bed.]

Once I began to stagger and slur my words, he knew it was time for us to head home; save me from embarrassing myself.

[Please, I don't think that's even possible with those friends. But, Mike, Bless that shriveled little heart again, doesn't know what we are capable of when we're back home drinking.]

Thanks to Mike, once again, I made it home in one piece; though, little dehydrated after purging all that wine and my dinner behind a friend’s house. Mike sweetly put me to bed - on the couch, still in my wedding clothes (Spanx and all - yes, I wore them again) , and placed a garbage can beside me.

And I woke up with only a mild hangover.

Thank you homemade wine.

What I learned from the weekend?

1. Yes, you can most certainly take the girl outta the country… but you ain’t never takin’ that country outta the girl.

2. I desperately miss being back home. *sniff, sniff*

3. Homemade wine is definitely fabulous. Will have to make more.

4. Mike is the best babysitter ever! when I get my drink on.

5. I love weddings.