Dear Husband and I had two holiday parties to attend this past weekend – one with his family, and the other with his company.  Now, the company party was in a convention center/hotel where we all could feel safe to get trashed with no driving involved.  Just stumbling here and there to get from point A to point B.

I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.  I love wine, and that is my drink of choice 90% of the time except for the occasional Crown and Coke.  But I can’t have a whole lot before I start slurring my words.  One glass of Cabernet, and I feel warm and toasty.  Two glasses, and my shoes are coming off and I’m hitting on the owner’s wife of the company.  Three glasses, and I lose all inhibitions and usually need a babysitter.

Saturday night, I had three glasses of wine.  Silly Thalia.

I do remember not only hitting on the owner’s wife, but the owner himself AND Dear Husband’s immediate supervisor.  Yes, my shoes came off and I boogied my way through the “We Are Family” songs, the “Yeah!” songs, and the “You Shook Me All Night” songs.  But I also kept kissing everyone and cozying up to them in my Marilyn Monroe-style low cut dress.  And I joked that the owner was trying to get me pregnant – some people thought that was funny.  Most people didn’t and found it a little awkward.

So, let’s just say that Thalia was throwing caution to the wind.

When the party was over (and after I scored the owner’s wife’s phone number, WHOOT!)…….Dear Husband asked me if I wanted to continue partying with some friends at a local bar that’s right next door.  I knew I’d already had enough to drink, and that if I had any more, I probably would be camped out by the toilet.  So, I only wanted to suffer embarassment and not my health, and I declined the offer.  He wanted to go, however, and so I told him to be careful and to call me if he was going to be more than an hour or so.

A couple of hours later after I had crashed on the bed in our suite, I get a phone call from a woman named Carla telling me that I needed to get some jeans and a t-shirt on since we’re all going to Steak and Shake.  The room was spinning, and I was feeling a little queasy, so I knew I was coming down from my drunkenness.  I asked to speak to my husband…..it took a few minutes since she was drunk too.

Dear Husband gets on the phone and asks if I can come along.  I can hear a group of people in the background yelling “THALIA!!!  THALIA!!!  THALIA!!!”  Understand that rarely am I a party pooper.  But that night, I didn’t have it in me, and the suite itself was super-awesome with the king-sized bed, the jacuzzi tub in the huge bathroom, the safe and the bar in the living room area…….I wanted Dear Husband to come back and spend at least a couple hours with me in a little lap of luxury before we fell asleep for the night.

So, Dear Husband heeded my call to come to me despite the protests from the crowd.  He’s a good guy.

Back at the suite, we’re both drunk and hurting, and I swear there ought to be a medical term for “whiskey dick.”  I wasn’t all that sexy either, since I was tired and my speech was slurred, and I didn’t make that much sense when I tried to seduce Dear Husband with my words. 

So, we wound up giggling our way through the sex with our stumbling and bumbling.   About four hours later after we had our fair share of orgasms and had fallen asleep, I woke up wanting a shower, and Dear Husband woke up wanting to vomit. 

The rest of the day yesterday was spent recovering from our hangovers, getting something to eat, cleaning up the house, and then having sex while sober. 

Maybe we were making sure we got it right the second time and that we hadn’t lost our touch.