Q: Will I ever learn? A: No. (And neither will you.)

About seven years ago, my niece (an absolutely delightful person) asked me what changes when we get older. She wasn’t being flip in any way. It was a completely sincere inquiry. And because of that, I wanted to give a meaningful answer. Something that would help prepare her for what lies ahead.

I was daunted. I wanted to give her actionable intel. Here was this young adult looking for some nugget of wisdom from her aunt. But the scope of the question seemed too vast. 

Then, in a flash of inspiration (you may call it “desperation”) I landed on something. I felt it might set her up for success. Not in her career, or relationships with others, but in her relationship with herself. 

My insight? [drum roll…] OK. Ya know those stupid things you do when you’re young that cause you to say something like, “Well, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m never doing THAT again.” Chances are you will do them again.

Did I have an example for her? Why yes, I did. (In truth, I had a ton of them, but let’s not scare the girl.) I selected something simple, relatable, and really stupid.

After an epic evening of drinking-down-the-lane in Los Angeles and then becoming all too enamored of my bathroom’s floor tile, I declared to myself and the universe that I would never again drink that much. “Ha-ha!” said the universe. (And my niece.)

I explained to her that years later, I found myself equally enamored of the tiles on the bathroom floor of my rented house on the Gulf Coast. I was so not proud of myself. But there it was. My wisdom. You will repeat many of your stupid mistakes. 
Yes, the saying is, “Fool me once.” Guess what? It’s just a saying. Forgive yourself. We all repeat foolish things multiple times during our lives. My niece seemed pleased and somewhat relieved with her nugget of life truth. I’d done my job. 

But had I done a good enough job for myself? Did I learn anything? If you read last month’s blog post, you may recall that I spoke about how I’m now drinking a lot less. Typically, one drink a week, if that. So, here comes irony to this. 

Last week for Mr. Parker’s birthday we spent two nights in New Orleans. (Yes, you’ve already guessed the punch line.) Neither of us were planning on overindulgence. Just a nice glass of wine to complement our charcuterie board at Cochon Butcher. Well, that nice glass was followed by one more nice glass. After our monster charcuterie board we split a lamb gyro for dessert. More wine just made sense.

On to music in the park. I drank nothing. But the atonal jazz was getting on my last good nerve, which was now soaked in red wine. So when we got to our next stop, the pump was primed. And that next stop was Erin Rose, “Home of the frozen Irish coffee!” (Order yours with a Jameson Irish Whiskey float. You’re welcome.)  We split a roast beef debris po’ boy and chased our Irish coffees with a pint. (So much more responsible than a second Irish coffee.) We made friends with folks at the bar who were celebrating their fourth wedding anniversary. I honestly don’t remember if we had a second pint. I want to say no, but…

We had one more scheduled stop on the way back to Le Richelieu Hotel. (That’s where we were married one fine Bastille Day some years earlier.) The scheduled stop was Harry’s Corner Bar, a total dive with an excellent jukebox. It was there that a nice man pointed out how happy we looked. We ordered two bourbons and began a conversation with him and his friends. Turns out this man was the brother of a friend of ours. (Of course.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I now present the “I thought I’d learned my lesson” moment. The nice man disappeared then reappeared with shots of Jägermeister for all. And by the way, I can already feel your judgment. (And your judgment is flawless.) Fool me once? Nope. Twice? Nope. To celebrate my man’s birthday, I went for a third round of stupid. We left the bar promising to see them all the same place, same time, the next evening.

We now had only one possible move. A preemptive strike on the legendary Verti Marte. (As it says on the sign, “A truly local experience. The BEST food in the quarter. 24/7 but we do have to clean sometime so call ahead if it's late!”) If you know the French Quarter, you may know the Verti Marte. It’s small corner market with great sandwiches, fried catfish and all mannner of bagged salty snacks. I went with White Cheddar Cheez-Its and an off-brand, Cheeto-like item. 

The goal was to let these treats act as little sponges to soak up what I had slogged down before it decided to exit through the door by which it had entered. I’m pleased to report that with a fair amount of determination and concentration, it worked. There was no visit to the tiles in the middle of the night.

I’m even more pleased to report that “Fool me thrice” is all I required. The next night, after a day filled with great flavors (The crazy good Turkey & The Wolf for lunch and glorious Bacchanal for dinner), a good museum, many miles of walking, excellent music, and great conversations with fine folks, we were again headed to Harry’s Corner Bar to fulfill our promise to our friend’s brother and his krewe. 

Halfway there, I stopped walking. I turned and said to Mr. Parker, “I don’t think I can do it.” 

“No?”

“I don’t think it’s wise.”

“You did say you’d be there.”

“I lied.”

“Fine with me.”

We each turned on our heel, breaking our promise to the nice man and thereby keeping a promise I’d made to myself years earlier. I’d learned my lesson. Finally.  Apparently, Mr. Parker had learned his as well.

Yay, team!

Sadly, I know that in a previous life, the amount that I’d had to drink stretched over so many hours would not have crushed me. I say “sadly” because that amount of hooch should leave a mark. But between being out of practice and not carrying as much weight as I used to (the irony of losing weight by consuming less alcohol is you can no longer consume as much alcohol), I just can’t play. 

Now, my question to myself is, have I truly learned? I’ll let you know.

Cheers,
Honey