I don't want to become Drunky McTightyWhitey*

I almost stopped in the local liquor store this afternoon to buy all of the fixings needed to make margaritas. Problem is, I would have ended up drinking then all by myself. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I figure my alcohol consumption does not need to increase. My family history is agin’ me.

For similar reasons, I resisted buying a bottle of sangria last weekend. Sangria isn’t right without fruit anyway.

*Who is Drunky McTightyWhitey, you might ask.

A few years ago, when I was living with Beth and Nick, they were visiting Beth’s sister and her family, leaving me home with the dogs and cats. The Saturday morning after they left, I let the dogs out about 0700, wandered down the driveway to pick up the paper, glanced to my right to keep an eye on the dogs, and saw a neighbor several houses down picking up his paper.

Some time before this, his dog had been wandering around the neighborhood about 10 PM one night, leading Beth and Nick to walk said dog back to this neighbor’s house. He answered the door fully clothed, but rather inebriated.

This particular morning, I had no idea as to his state of intoxication, but did notice to my horror that he was clad in a t-shirt and a pair of, you guessed it, tighty whities.

The name kind of assigned itself.