Wherein I Suffer for a Good Cause

SNO Ball – the Sheridan Neighborhood Organization Ball, that is – was held this last Saturday, a benefit held to raise money to supply take-home school lunches for the weekend for children in poverty.

We drank, we danced, we bid on silent auction items.

I had just the right amount to drink Saturday night, which is to say that I was sparklingly witty, a rhythmic dancer, and one helluvan attractive person.

Anyone who tells you differently is lying to you. 

Ah, the power of the gin and tonic.

And then, as they say, came the morning.

Did you know that one can actually hear the sound of one’s tiny, wizened brain absorbing Fresca?

Sounds like children’s feet running across a sheet of bubble wrap. 

To be honest, I feel bad about the headache I’ve given myself.  Them there brain cells never hurt nobody! They were going to do great things, them cells: learn to successfully parallel park on the first attempt, for instance, or get me to finally pay for the flamenco dance lessons I’ve been thinking of.

On the other hand, I can now watch TV without yelling at the commercials.  

There are advantages to having reduced bandwidth. 

I’ve atoned for it, of course, as one does.  I’ve cooked meals for the rest of the week, I’ve polished the cats and now I’m putting a Pearl-sized dent in the couch cushions.

There’s an elastic waistband involved.

It’s an undignified situation, but when charity events call?

One has a civic duty, after all.