Happy Hour?

For the last 5 months of Fridays, Tita has kidnapped the kids. Ana spends the night. Elliot hangs out until 10 pm or so. Sometimes, I join them for dinner, and just hang out at the home I grew up in, in Harahan. Sometimes, I just sleep. Sometimes, I just veg.

The Friday night before last, I joined my friend Erin for margaritas. A tradition I could certainly get used to. I was looking forward to this past Friday with great relish. Thinking of all the watering holes we could scandalize with our loud reminsces and candid conversation, I dialed her number eagerly as the end of the workday rolled around.

She was oh so cheery.

Erin: It's a beautiful day!

Me: Yes, er- beautiful. I've had a terrible week. Where are we going?

Erin: Why don't we go exercise? It's so pretty outside, and the park will be lovely

Me: WHAT?! You're kidding me, right? I have had the worse week.

Erin: I know, I know. You'll feel so much better afterwards.

Me: You suck.

Yes, we walked. Did I feel better afterwards? I don't know. The cold beer at Whole Foods afterwards wasn't quite what I had in mind. Should I look for a new drinking buddy? Or just try harder to bring her over to the dark side? Wrong answers include: just go for a walk on Fridays instead of happy hour--you'll feel better AND aren't you glad you went?

Anyway, it takes a good friend to drag you kicking and screaming around Audubon Park two times.