I won't do that again

The other night, after a long day of painting, I was looking forward to my two fingers of whiskey (Forty Creek).  My body was tired after many hours of working on a large canvas of The Jackson 5.

"It is like five portraits in one," said Heather.

She was right.  It was a challenging painting and by 9 pm it really felt like I deserved a drink and some resting-on-the-sofa-and-watching-House-of-Cards time.

Unfortunately, all of our small glasses were in the dishwasher.  No matter.  I grabbed one of the wide bottomed ones, slipped in my two fingers of Forty Creek and sat down.

It was so nice to stop and do nothing but sip a nice stiff drink after a long stretch of working with the brush and the many details of bringing the Jackson brothers to life.  When my first two fingers were done, I thought to myself:  It's Saturday night.  Why not have a second?

The problem in all of this is my poor grasp of volume.  There is a big difference between two fingers in a small bottomed glass and two fingers in a large bottomed glass.  Unfortunately, I didn't take this difference into account.

By the time Heather got home from her event, I was sloshed.  I did my best to hide it and sound nonchalant (and sober), working extra hard to say the simplest of sentences.  In my mind, I was failing miserably.

I woke up the next morning with a dull headache and feeling like a sack of horse poop.  At supper that evening I made a declaration.

"I've decided to forgo my whisky for the rest of the summer," I said.

"Why?" asked one of the boys.

It was at that time that I finally spoke about my poor understanding of volume.


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