I was relieved - though alarmed - to learn that I grossly misjudge my own drunkeness. Turns out that by law I could really drink quite a bit more and drive legally.
This should frighten you all.
After drinking myself to the right side of that fine line - you know the line to which I refer - I prepared myself for shameful results and I blew mightily.
.036...
What the cottonpickin' fuck?
I knew that with one more cocktail, I'd say something horrifically inappropriate or - worse - dance. I was probably two drinks from the point where nobody could tolerate interacting with me.
Puking wasn't imminent, but it was certainly a possibility.
And this machine was telling me I could have sucked down another few shots of vodka and remained within my civil rights to operate a motor vehicle.
I have a new sense of horrifed awe for the raging alcoholism it took for my old friend Brent to be tested at .43 although he's dead now so I guess that didn't work out so well.
I'm fairly certain there's a moral to all of this. I'll get back to you when I figure it out. Imma have myself a drink and think about it.
As in all other situations, in need of a moral, involving at least one human, it is either, number 1, the man-made machine lies, or number 2, the man, I beg your pardon, or the woman, lies....:):)
ReplyDeleteI have an immediate sympathy, or almost a delirious instant passion for people who write well about drinking. Might be an alcoholism sign. I call it love for the good things in life.
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