O! Ye Drunken Sloth

So tonight my brother-in-law asked if I was drunk yet. I said no, for that was at 7, and I hadn't had a drop yet - that I was aiming for around 9. I flipped back to my Chaucer (Canterbury Tales) text online, and this is what was staring me in the face:

A lecherous thyng is wyn, and dronkenesse
Is ful of stryvyng and of wrecchednesse.
O dronke man, disfigured is thy face!
Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace...

HOW. PERFECT.

I wasn't a "dronke man," or even a "dronke" woman; I was a woman who went out tonight with one great person and talked and laughed over one tall amber beer for hours.

And I found out that one tall glass of beer is enough to make me want to TALK FOREVER. So I kept my mouth shut when I got the urge to tell him every single thing about me or about my family or about my neighbour's kids, the ones with the dog.

Silly me, I was so excited about spending time with him tonight that I, um, forgot to eat supper. So that beer was on an empty stomach, after walking a mile or so. We sat and talked and laughed forever, and after that, we walked some more and we played pool and talked and made more plans.

And now I'm tired - but it's a good tired. The "I just had the best birthday of my life so far" tired; the "I just spent the evening with one of my favourite people" tired; the "I had the most wonderful day, ever, and now I have to set my alarm for 6:30 AM - that is SO inhumane" tired.

Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming.