Hello…Betty Ford?

The kitchen was clean, dinner was in the oven. The smell of meatloaf and roasted potatoes filled the kitchen while the girls did homework at the kitchen bar. Soft, subtle jazz music floated through the rooms as candle flames danced on the table. It had been a long week. The only thing I wanted at that moment was a nice, cold Corona and some chips with salsa. There is something festive about filling the heavy red bowl of DW’s grandmother with fresh salsa. The scent of cilantro and onions tickle my nose, scoops of chips with a touch of lime.

I popped the top off the Corona bottle, watched the sweat slide down the glass. Just as I was about to take my first savory sip, The Hare shouted.

“What are you doing? You still have nine minutes.”

Huh? Nine minutes for what exactly?

“I don’t know what you are talking about sweetheart. What nine minutes?”

Folding her arms in a huff she replied, “You still have nine minutes until 5 o’clock, that’s what, so you can’t drink that yet.”

Seriously? She’s now the alcohol police? I smiled. Like there was anyway I was going to wait another nine minutes to start enjoying this golden moment of liquid gold. I started to open my mouth to speak when The Tortoise cut me off.

“I wouldn’t worry about it mom,” she shluffed off while finishing a math problem, “I’m sure it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Hmmph. Perhaps I’ll wait just a few more minutes.

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