Things are looking bad. The SO and I go out for a few traditional mouth drinks. No dice. But the main reason is that the SO wants to go out drinking with some girlfriends. During his brief stay, we contemplate better potential positions. It smells cleanish, like supermarket salmon.
This time, two shots of vodka go in with nary a drop spilled.
This is called progress. Things are looking bad. Back in the lotus position, I hear the SO charging toward me. After that epiphany, I wipe off the excess Franzia, pull up my pants and go to the kitchen where the SO and I make pizza.
Like drinking recklessly until I puke.