I won't do that again
"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.