Composing Late-night Prose Under the Influence of Liquid Courage

The Wayward Esquire and I went out after work Friday [He's bacherloring it up this weekend thanks to Daisy's trip west]. It took us a while to find a place that had more than just standing room only and after wandering over a mile to and fro over the city, we settled on the place where we started.

Throughout this entire search process, I was craving a Dirty Martini. The Wayward Esquire and I were having a discussion on this for the better part of our 40 minute pre-game walk. As we were closing in on our final destination, he persuaded me to switch from Grey Goose to Tanquery Ten. This was a genius move. The Gin makes the dirty martini have that much more deliciousness.

Two dirty martini’s later, Grace and one of her esteemed coworkers join us. Another martini later, one of my friends and his significant other join in on the fun. Then my friend, his significant other and I proceed to go to dinner. [Yeah, I was doing this on an empty stomach, I am smart]. Thankfully, we were already cavorting in a steakhouse, so the trek to dinner was measured in feet.

One more martini and 2 bottles of wine later, I am hammered feeling good. Dinner is over and naturally, I head back to the office so I can grab all my crap that I left there. Of course my computer was up and running when I stumbled in and naturally there were several IMs unread by me and demanding a response. And damnit, I penned a great response to each and every one of them. Followed several up by email. Then I left. Quite proud of myself.

The hangover from hell hit on Saturday and I did not leave the couch.

However, I spent all of Saturday refusing to look at my e-mail fearful for the prose that I had penned whilst under great quantities of “Mead.” I woke up Sunday and I checked my e-mail and I saw that lo and behold, what I had sent had been responded to. But I refused to read them because I didn’t want to remember what I had sent Friday night. I played soccer this afternoon and then I head to the office to work out. After the workout, I bite the bullet and read the responses to my drunken e-mails. Turns out, I was not as stupid as I had feared. Nor did I try and be Casanova. I actually just responded to the questions asked of me.

However, I will not check my sent message box to see if I e-mailed any clients and/or my partners. Why tempt fate?