This weekend was yet again another out of city (actually out-of-state) soccer game. We drove a little over 2 hours to Pittsburgh for P, my 13-year-old, to play 2 games. Why couldn’t we have soccer games/tournaments in Florida, California or Hawaii? You’d hear no complaints from me. Sure, I would have to rob a bank to afford it but that’s neither here nor there.
“We need wine!” S said about 5 minutes into the 2 hour car ride.
“Uh, duh!” I said sarcastically. Her declaring this was on par with declaring we need water to live.
We checked into the Holiday Inn. It was clean and basic, not worth the sandwich trick to get a suite though. After the first game, S reminded me again we needed wine.
“Dude, I got you! There’s a BiLo like 5 miles from here.”
Now I had never been in a BiLo but it was ridiculously old school. Everyone shopping there had to be at least 50+ and the sales associates wore bow-ties and blue shopkeeper aprons. They had a very Stepford like appearance and it was kinda creepin’ me out.
When we learned the liquor store was not connected to the actual store, we groaned simultaneously. We decided to divide and conquer. I paid for the $100 of snacks we felt we needed for 1 overnight while S went next door.
P and I were waiting in the car and my phone rang.
“Yeah, they don’t have Black Box Cabernet but they do have other types of boxed….”
“No!” I interrupted her. “I’m a respectable woman and only drink one kind of boxed wine and that’s Black Box.”
A few years ago, Forbes magazine came out with the best boxed wines and Black Box was one of them. My reasoning is this: if it’s good enough for Forbes, it’s good enough for me, but I digress.
5 minutes later S came out.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
“They had a vodka tasting.”
“Oh, fair enough.”
Back at the Hotel
We stayed down in the lobby with the other parents for a little while. I was concerned S was bored given we were talking about our kids, soccer, etc. so I suggested we head up to the hotel room.
“I might sleep in my new satin skirt!” I announced in the hallway. I was feeling no pain and was referring to my new, long skirt I had scored at H&M for just $20 earlier in the day.
“You know what would be funny?” S said. “If we put P’s clothes on and took pictures.”
Because it could be argued that S is as bat shit crazy as I am, I thought this was a splendid idea. We began to get all of his carefully hung garments out from the closet. We pulled his accessories over to the bed, which included sunglasses I just bought him at H&M and headphones. We then began to put the clothes on and hammed it up for the mirror and phones.
Which ones your favorite? Mine is the last.
Beautifully Done Photography
After the first dress up, I put on my new satin skirt. S thought it would look funky with her t-shirt so she took it off and demand I put it on. She suddenly turned into a stylist. I always say that should I go blind, she will have to be my stylist. Anyway, she knotted it up, despite my protest. My motto is this, if you have muffin top, under no circumstance should you ever, ever show your stomach. After deeming me ready for the camera, she took the following pictures while I acted like a loon ball.
I laughed so hard, I cried. I think she cried too. That first picture is of me, right before I doubled over in hysterics. OMG, I couldn’t stop laughing. I felt like a moron and didn’t even care.
So yes, when you leave 2 sisters in a hotel room, 2 states away and with lots of wine, this is what happens.