My parents are Mormon and don’t drink alcohol. I am not, and do. Usually this really doesn’t affect our relationship, beyond the occasional you’re going to hell lecture. I love my parents, I really do. I just don’t love their chosen religion. I love a good Shiraz way more than I love Baby Jesus. That being said…
Last night Ben and I were driving to meet our parents for dinner.
Me: “I had a long day and since I can’t go home and drink wine on my couch I’m ordering it with dinner. Consider yourself warned.”
Ben: “WHAT?? You can’t do that. Mom and Dad will freak out.”
Me: “Too bad. I specifically choose Red Butte Café so I could order a glass. Having one glass of wine may cast me into outer darkness, but the world will not end.”
Ben: “ I’m not letting you drag me into this. I will take you to the bar afterwards and get you as drunk as you want, just please do not order wine with dinner. Please?”
Me: “Fine. If it’s that important to you I won’t. But I’m ordering a dietfuckingcoke then.”
Ben: “How old are you?”
Ben: “OK, I can live with that. You’ll get a dirty look from mom, but there won’t be any yelling.”
Me: “I think saying fuck is a lot more offensive to her than ordering wine. I’m willing to bet you one bar tab on it. We’ll ask her when Dad goes to pay for dinner.”
We did and she was horrified that Ben even asked her. “You know how much I hate that word, Benjamin,” she hissed at him. And for once I came out looking like the good kid! The good kid that’s getting shit-faced on Ben’s tab all weekend long.