It was July 4th, 2010, and we were at our first stop of the afternoon, when our 11-year old overheard someone say there were Jello shots at the picnic. I explained that it was alcohol and told her not to drink any. No big deal.
I'm sure you see by now where this is going, so let me justify to you (and myself), why I didn't associate the Jello squares with the Jello shots. THEY WEREN’T IN LITTLE CUPS, OKAY?!?! And who cuts alcoholic Jello into fun sized jigglers and leaves them on the dessert table willy nilly for the virgin drinker/chubby dieter to see?
So I started working my way slowly through the plate of red ones. Funny thing is, the more I ate, the more I wanted. Of course it all makes sense now, hindsight and all. When my son came inside and found me, there were a total of 3 left. I'd have to guess that means I ate somewhere between 12 and I don't know of them. I looked at him with my dilated pupils and asked him if he tried the jello. He slowly said, "Nooooo, but you tried the jello, didn't you?" Then I realized my lips were burning, or maybe 'felt like they were on fire' would be a more accurate description, and my tongue felt huge and fuzzy.
My concern was having to explain to our daughter that I’d just scarfed down the very shots she was forbidden to taste. My husband's concern was that our next stop was the church picnic and I was sloshed. Ten minutes into the drive there, I fell asleep. (aka; passed out.) I woke up in the van at the church picnic an hour later in a pile of my own drool to my husband lightly smacking my cheeks and saying, "Mommy's okay, kids, she's just drunk." Must we tell them everything?
Other than my jittery eyes and occasional mispronouncing of words, I did okay the rest of the evening, and I'd like to think I pulled it off with no one noticing. Until the drive home when I suddenly heaved and my husband yanked the van to the side of the road and practically shoved me out. While I vomited on the side of the road, he used it as a "teachable moment" for our kids as to the dangers of drinking. One more memory for our kids to tell their therapist someday.
I definitely learned something from the experience, though. For instance, I now know why those Biggest Loser contestants eat so much damn Jello.