(Not my actual family)
My Real Memoir
It was New Year’s Eve. But I was only eleven, so it would be at least two more years before I was allowed to attend a Real Party. The moment we stepped into my Aunt Fran’s suburban shoebox I was exiled to the Kid Ghetto: “Go play with your cousins, honey!”
Yeah, right.
The cousins my age were MIA, and the older ones were at Real Parties doing Inappropriate Things. So it came down to me, two eight-year-old girls drinking pretend tea, and four kids under five, not one of whom was interested in discussing anything remotely intellectually stimulating. On the other hand, the kid’s room was full of challenging games: stacking rings, six-piece puzzles, a smiley-faced telephone. Oh, yeah, and a spring-mounted rocking horse.
Woo-hoo.
In short, “go play with your cousins” meant babysit. But at least there was punch. The punch in the bowl on the low table was syrupy and disgusting. The stuff in the bowl on the tall table looked better. But the adults were busy talking, so I helped myself. It was citrusy and fizzy and not half-bad. I drifted back into the Kid Ghetto and ended up reading picture books to a couple of tow-haired toddlers between trips to refill my cup. Strangely, the more I drank the thirstier I got.
Then I climbed onto the rocking horse. It was absurdly small. Which made me laugh. In fact, everything made me laugh. The more I rode, the funnier everything got. I kept laughing, refilling my cup, and riding the rocking horse, laughing, refilling my cup, and riding the rocking horse… At some point the room began to spin.
And then I threw up.
My parents were disappointed at having to leave so early. But when your kid is sick… “Do you think he has the flu?” Five minutes from Aunt Fran’s, we stopped at a gas station bathroom so I could throw-up again.
Eight gas station bathrooms later we finally made it home. Dad plopped me down onto my bed while Mom called the doctor. I was giggling between dry heaves. “Wait,” Dad said, “what punch bowl did you drink from?”
“The fizzy one.”
“Cancel the doctor!”
The next morning, I felt like I’d swallowed the Gobi Desert. With a chaser of death. And so it was that my party-hearty pre-teen lifestyle ended…
As abruptly as it had begun.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Mitch Teemley 
A cautionary tale, indeed!
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Another cautionary tale…when I was still crawling, my father had laid a glass of alcohol on the couch arm rest because he didn’t want it. Visiting with family. So, apparently, he suddenly noticed the baby acting unusual. Took a look at where the cup should be. It was not a good thing. I don’t remember any of it. But, it could have been much worse. Don’t leave acohol where babies can get at it. Alcohol poisoning is a real possibility. Apparently we were lucky. It didn’t poison me, but they never left unattended glasses again.
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!!
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Hilarious! And who wouldn’t choose the delicious, “fizzy” punch over the Kool-Aid? Happy New Year!!
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Thanks, Russell! (It’s gotta be New Year’s Eve somewhere, right?)
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Amazing most of us are still alive
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Yikes. It really is amazing that any of us survived our childhood.
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So now we know exactly how wild a child you were … 😉
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;>)
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😅😂🤣
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I blame the parents!! 🙂 🙂
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Hilarious story. For some, that would have put them off alcohol for life. As for me, well, I guess I am just a slow learner.
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Ahahahaha 🤣 loved this! Bless you. Stay away from the bigger punch bowl xx
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Roger that!
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“The fizzy one”🤣😂.
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upload partyin’ heart at age thirteen
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a rattling good yarn, Mitch: you pafrtied hard that night 🙂
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I did indeed, John.
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Hahaha… This is hilarious!
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Tho your impromptu bender’s flu-like symptoms and consequent hangover proved gross, dang it, Mitch, it’s the way you tell the story that’s so engrossing.
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Thanks, Tom.
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I love your trips down Memory Lane!
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You were lucky it wasn’t worse! I was at a family wedding once where there were two punch bowls, one with alcohol in it and one without. I didn’t know that, and when my three year old daughter asked for some punch, I started to give her a cup from the wrong one. Some teens sitting nearby were watching and started giggling. Suspicious, I asked my mother-in-law and found out I had almost given my three year-old spiked punch! (And to this day, I want credit for the self-restraint I showed by not slapping those teens right out of the building…..)
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Credit extended, Ann. Admirable restraint indeed!
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Oh my goodness, this had me in stitches 😂
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