Yesterday when I picked up Polly from school I asked her if she would like to go out to eat. I knew that Nathan was going out for hamburgers with friends after school and that Alex had already eaten so I didn’t want to have to go home and mess with dinner for just the two of us. Plus, I like to take advantage of any opportunity to spend some time with my kids on a one on one basis.

We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant near her school that had opened recently. I am personally a vegetarian but everyone else in my family eats meat. I like going to Mexican restaurants because I know that I can find something satisfying and I won’t be stuck with a salad. Not that I have anything against salads. Salads are great, but in most restaurants they are iceberg lettuce with maybe a little grated carrot and a wedge of mushy tomato if you’re lucky.

Polly ordered a Caesar salad with grilled chicken and I ordered the grilled veggie enchiladas. I considered ordering a margarita but when I saw that they had sangria on the menu I decided to try that instead. I had never had it before and it looked so beautiful with all of the chopped up fruit in it. The meal came with those additive hot chips and fiery hot salsa. I sipped on the sangria to cool down my mouth and listened as my daughter filled me in on the goings on of life in junior high. When my enchiladas arrived I quickly released that they had been mislabeled on the menu. They were not enchiladas verde, they were enchiladas burnyerfuckinmouthoffa.

Ordinarily I have a high tolerance for spicy foods but these were mouth on fire; flames will come out when I breathe spicy. The atmosphere was festive. The drink refills were free. The Spanish music was blaring and I continued to nibble and sip and nod my head as Polly talked on and on. A smart person might have asked the waitress for some water, or horchata, or a flour tortilla to fold up and place on one’s wounded tongue as a bandage. I was not a smart person. I knew I was in trouble when I started to feel a bit woozy. I knew I was even more trouble when I started to think that I was not only fluent in Spanish and understanding the music, but that the song had very very funny lyrics. I ate some plain chips thinking it might soak up the alcohol in my stomach. I paid the check, used the facilities, and dreaded getting on the bus home.

I asked Polly if she might like to walk awhile before getting on the bus, thinking that a breeze in my face would snap me out of the wine induced fog. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Nooooooo.” The bus came immediately and I saw with dismay that it was packed. We fortunately found seats and Polly quickly asked if she could listen to my Ipod. I handed it over and used the breathing techniques I use for panic attacks and labor and delivery. Always being one to ruin what could have been just a slightly more amusing ride than usual, I started to obsess over the little things. Had bus rides always been so wobbly? Did every driver drive really fast and then slam on the brakes mere seconds before a stop so your whole body is thrown forward? Was everyone on the bus staring at me? Did I smell like wine? I began to feel queasy. I considered the ramifications if I had to grab Polly and exit the bus in a mad rush before I vomited. I envisioned her retelling the story over and over again on a therapist’s couch. I knew that I was having a panic attack but I didn’t want to add a Klonopin tablet to my already altered state. How many glasses of sangria had I consumed? I couldn’t remember. Was it just wine, or did it have some sort of liquor in it?

My daughter continued listening to music and peering out the window while I tried to deduce whether I felt less drunk with my eyes open or closed. Finally we reached our stop and walked the few blocks home. I had one of those selfish conversations with God that I only seem to have when I am in great distress, “Please God let me get home without incident and I will never ever drink again.”

At home Polly quickly grabbed the phone and headed off to her room. Nathan was still out and Alex was still asleep, fortunately. I was embarrassed. I crawled onto the couch and took a nap. When I awoke Nathan was coming in the front door and I saw that a couple of hours had passed. I felt better, much better. I was a bit wiped out, as if I had spent the afternoon exercising for the first time in years, but other than that I felt fine. I went to the kitchen and started the dishes and Alex came down the stairs. “What’s up with you? You look funny.” was how he greeted me. “Nothing” I replied, placing the clean dishes in the cupboard with a shrug.