It Happened To Me: I Got Really Wasted at My Husband’s Ex-Wife’s House and Said Horribly Embarrassing Things
It could have been the third too-strong margarita, but nothing can excuse me marveling to the ex, "Isn't it weird we've had sex with the same person?!?" And that was just the beginning.
By: Maggie Nerz Iribarne
To begin, let me be clear that I have never liked attending functions at my husband’s ex-wife’s and avoid it as much as possible. That day, we went, because it was so hot my husband’s two adult daughters didn't want to make the 40-minute trip from their mother’s to our house. (Something about their dogs.) We agreed to go to them. (It’s also important to note the ex’s lack of appreciation for air conditioning and that I always suffer a certain amount of nerves when in her presence.)
So, I was, at baseline, hot and nervous. Not at my best. And it all started innocently enough. Happily, even.
We arrived late in the afternoon that hot summer day. The step-son-in-law immediately mixed and served a lethal batch of cold margaritas, of which I partook enthusiastically. The heavy buzz deadened every nerve and brain cell, almost at first sip. I relaxed into a daze and joined the conversation.
Sweat beaded my upper lip, coaxing me to drink more.
They were very, very strong drinks.
I had two. So what? So what if I had two?
But like the old story with martinis goes: “One’s not enough, two’s too many, three’s not enough.” The second only weakened any future resolve.
Two of these particular margaritas were more than enough.
After that second drink I sat in a hump, probably singing or drooling at the ex’s dining room table. My husband was outside — nowhere near enough to save me from my sloppy, foolish choices.
The step-son-in-law (damn him!) held up the blender pitcher, wiggled it, eyebrows up. I did not need words, understanding his meaning. “Let’s split it,” he said.
When he handed me my final glass. I gulped it down, sealing my fate.
I had eaten almost nothing, because why eat when you can drink sugary, boozy death-bombs and feel great about everything, or care about absolutely nothing?
When it was time to leave, the ex, step-daughters and step-son-in-law showed us out. That’s when I held onto the ex’s arm, repeating a word that still causes my face to burn these many years later.
“Seriously,” I slurred.
“Seriously, I respect you so, so much, seriously,” I repeated. “I’m serious. I know, seriously, all you guys have been through, and seriously, I get it,” I said.
The ex, not a drinker (of course) turned her face toward mine, studying my flailing, babbling countenance with a bemused expression.
The crowning glory of my blathering came when I stopped my endless “seriouslys” and offered, “Isn’t it weird we’ve had sex with the same person?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.