Drink, drank, drunk

Oh Alan, he's the love of my life. Together we have made beautiful memories that I hold dear to my heart--especially the drunk and hazy ones. So as promised, here is my favorite drunk Alan story.

The year was 1996...I think. Hey what do I know? I was drunk a lot too. Come on, we were young, newlyweds and childless. What else did we have to do? Well yeah, we did that a lot too. Ok, back to the story. Stop distracting me!! Since I was working at the hospital for an evening shift (3pm to 11pm) Alan decided to meet one of his high school buddies for "happy hour" after work. When I called him at home at 9pm there was no answer. I tried again at 10pm and no answer. I was starting to get really worried at that point and doing the woman thing of imaging the worst possible scenario. I also did the woman thing of calling every 10 to 15 minutes thinking that would make a difference. Near the end of my shift at about 11pm, I called again and this time he answered the phone with what sounded like "Aaaah Oooooo." I said, "Did you just get home?" And he answered, "aaa-wh-ga." My intense worried feelings switched to anger as I said, "Fine, I'm on my way home" and slammed the phone down.

When I arrived home I found him face down on the bed wearing a robe. I was able to rouse him enough to get him under the covers. I turned out the light and lay there fuming. All of a sudden I heard bad noises coming from his side of the bed. Noises kind of like the 'ack ack' of a cat with the 'gurgle huk' of a drunk guy. I sat up, turned on the light and saw him doing the heaving motions. I screamed, "Get up!! Go to the bathroom!!! Run!!" He got up, stumbled around the bed and started running toward the bathroom. I glanced at the bathroom and my brain screamed "Crap!" because the door was closed. I frantically jumped out of bed and started running toward the door to try and avert disaster but drunk guy inertia beat me out. He hit the closed door, bounced off of it and then spewed all over the door. I arrived at the door just in time to turn the dripping door knob and guide him to the toilet. While he was having his special time with the porcelin, I was busy wiping the door down and muttering curses under my breath at him.

As Alan finished up he started to giggle. He laughed and laughed and said, "I think I drank too much." I said, "You think?!" I helped him up and turned on the shower. I tried to remove his vomit splattered robe but he protested, "It's the only thing keeping me warm." I managed to wrestle it off of him and pushed him into the shower. Then he turned around and said to me, "You're mean!" (Oh my, the foreshadowing. I hear that phrase almost everyday of my life now that I have kids.) And I said to him, "Oh, you don't know what mean is! You wait until tomorrow, mister!" (Again foreshadowing, I had the motherly instinct even back then.)