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Posts Tagged ‘Key Alcoholic Beverage Opportunities’

Here’s my secret: I’ve gone all Zumba.

Yes, according to all the marketing, I’ve “ditched the workout and joined the party!!!” with my dear friend KT. We’re both investing in our cardiovascular health by shimmying and rotating our hips, like, A LOT and listening to a peppy instructor in a Zumba-branded headband shout “AWESOME!!!!” at us, like, A LOT a lot.

I kind of like it.

Last week, we even ensnared our friend Mistress M into our web of zumba-ness and after the class, the three of us congratulated ourselves on being so aerobically-virtuous.

“It’s also good because it means we have an alcohol-free night!” KT exclaimed.

Mistress M looked crushed.

“Oh, that kind of ruins my next suggestion…” she said.

I almost didn’t hear her because our instructor’s “AWESOME!!!!” was still ringing in my ears, but I was quick to step in.

“I think it’s in everyone’s interest that we hear Mistress M’s suggestion,” I said, boldly.

CUT TO: us counter-balancing our Good Cardiovascular Works by inflicting serious damage on our kidneys.

Yes, it was what I call a KABO (a Key Alcoholic Beverage Opportunity). And somewhat surprisingly, it wasn’t the only KABO I’ve encountered in recent days.

You see, KT got an invitation to the premiere of a film one of her friends was in and she invited me to go with her.  The day before the premiere, we made the mistake of watching the trailer on YouTube. It was less than three minutes long and just watching the first thirty seconds almost brought on a KABO then and there. I mean, there is awful and then there is AWFUL (please note capitalisation).

Having already RSVPed and told her friend we were going, KT and I were left no option but to talk strategy for the evening. We would A) be seen mingling outside the cinema; B) take seats with a clear path to the exit; and C) escape at the earliest opportunity, the ‘elbow nudge’ being our signal that we’d had enough.

Which is what we did. AND THEN KT’S HUSBAND’S BOSS SAT NEXT TO US. It was the equivalent of the school principal sitting next to you at a three-hour school concert where your kid’s act was up first and you were planning to spend the rest of the three hours at the pub down the road. Before the opening credits had even finished, I was already nudging KT so hard that I’d worn a whole in her sleeve and yet we both knew we couldn’t leave because KT’S HUSBAND’S BOSS WAS SITTING NEXT TO US.

After half an hour of X-TREME AWFULness (again: note capitalisation), we turned to look at each other. Instinctively we knew what we had to do. We had no choice. No choice at all. I did my best “get down low and go, go, go!” and just got the hell out of there, with KT close behind. And we didn’t stop running until we got to the nearest bar, where we promptly KABOed ourselves back to mental health…

Now, speaking of mental health, you may be interested to know that, thanks to outsourcing the plastering, my kitchen now looks like this:

However, our flat packed kitchen (the choosing of which was, for me, akin to root canal treatment) still looks like this:

Now, that in itself doesn’t bring on the KABO. Oh, no. Not at all.

It’s this: my husband, thrilled by the beautiful job the plasterers had done, came up with the brilliant idea of moving our kitchen table into that nook and moving the oven and fridge over to the other wall.

“After all, it’s not too late to return the flat-packed kitchen to Ikea and start again,” he said.

It was like a neon sign lit up above his head that said KABO! However, since it was well before midday, I opted to give him the death stare instead. He has subsequently turned to stone and now I have nobody to unflat-pack my kitchen… and I feel a Category Seven KABO coming on.

Anyone care to join me? What’s that? You will??

AWESOME!!!!

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One of the hardest things for me over the past week has been my medication management post-oral surgery. The antibiotics I’m on are supposed to be taken four times a day half an hour before food and two hours after I last ate. 

“Shuh!” I commented to a friend. “Two hours since I last ate?? I mean, when is there ever two hours in a day when I’m not eating?”

(It’s true: I graze all the live-long day, constantly stuffing my children’s left overs in my mouth such as apples with one single bite taken out of them, saliva-infused toast and cold fries languishing at the bottom of the Happy Meal box.  I’m like the Noo-noo from the Teletubbies, who must surely suffer acute indigestion from hoovering up all those Tubby Toast and Tubby Custard accidents. And if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, I would count yourself very lucky, if I were you. Very lucky indeed.)

“I’m reading a very interesting book about overcoming overeating,” my friend replied. 

“And what’s the secret to overcoming overeating?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t finished it yet,” was her response. Which is exactly my problem with any kind of book or article or even gate-fold pamphlet about dieting because I have usually wandered off to see if there is any chocolate left in the Treats Cupboard before I get to the punchline. Particularly if there are things like milligrams of fat or “points” to take into consideration. I mean, if I’d wanted to spend my days measuring and counting shit,  I would have become an Apothecary or gotten an apprenticeship with someone like The Count von Count, who is called The Count because he loves to count. 

Anyway, it made me wonder if there was a book about under-reading about over-coming over-eating. Probably. But I’d never finish it. 

Interestingly enough, my issues with alcohol are same same but different. Health Care Professionals recommend between two and three standard drinks per day for women. And yet, as a mother, I’ve identified at least fifteen Key Alcoholic Beverage Opportunities (KABOs) of an evening:

KABO #1: Having a drink to celebrate my husband arriving home from work.

KABO #2: Having a drink while I’m making dinner (also known as “The Chef’s Perogative”). 

KABO #3: Having a drink so as not to Officially Die Of Boredom when supervising bath time. 

KABO #4:  Having a drink when The Pixie’s squealing hits its upper-most register (circa 7pm).

KABO #5: Having a drink while watching television with my husband, particularly if it is really bad television. 

KABO #6-13: Having a drink after each appearance of a child at the door saying they’re “scared” or claiming that one of their siblings “whacked/smashed/looked askance at me”. 

KABO #14: Having a drink to celebrate that moment when the kids are finally asleep.  

KABO #15: Having a drink when the TV is turned off for the night and I realise that the next working day is virtually upon me.

So, with so many opportunities for drinking, you’d think I’d spend most of my evenings blind drunk. However, contrary to popular opion, I am much better with alcohol than anyone might think. You see, I’m a “delayed gratification” kind of girl and I totally wait until the kids are asleep, so that all that white noise and static electricity they create doesn’t hamper my enjoyment of a nice glass of ice cold bubbly. Then I really enjoy those last two KABOs for all their worth, all within the remit of the Responsible Drinker.

Unless, of course, it’s been a bitch of a day. In which case, nothing’s standing between me and that bottle. Nothing. 

Food and drink issues? I’ve got dozens of them. Dozens, I tell ya! I’d count them all, but I’m far too busy stuffing my face with party-bag booty. And there’s the truth.

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