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The Taking of the Margaritas 123

July 13, 2009
A true tale of faith, perseverance, and hope (from the house of the Hoods)

By Shannon

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We writers here on the blog really hope that somehow we can contribute to the betterment of mankind.  Every once in a while a story comes along like the following.  Though difficult to share, I am willing to offer up my tale in the hopes that it can inspire the masses.

I have a natural hatred of Sundays, and have for many years been known as one to “keep the weekend dream alive”, so to speak.   Once I go into crabby mode  while dreading the beginning of another week, I find that a soothing Sunday evening cocktail will delay the emergence of full-out bitchiness. For years I looked to Mi Cocina and their wonderful mambo taxi’s to provide that salve to the psyche.  Alas, they have been gone for a while now *tears up* and I have not found a suitable substitute for their liquid happiness delivery system.

I still want a margarita on an isolated occasion, and yesterday was just such a time.  It was 350 degrees, and the crab mode was creeping into my demeanor.  Matt was jogging, the kids were whining, and I wanted a Margarita.  I knew exactly where to find one.  We have a mini-fridge downstairs, and I had stashed a bottle of Jose Cuervo premade Golden Margaritas in the miniscule freezer compartment for this exact type of  situation.  I sprinted down the stairs, flung open the door, and to my horror found ( 1), a bottle entombed by several inches of inconsiderate ice.  (Also,  anyone who thinks I have embellished my odd proclivity for Tab cola, behold).

DSCN0153A lesser person than I would probably crumble to the ground, defeated and broken, but not me.  Nothing comes between me and a cocktail, not even several inches of ice.  There was no time to defrost, the situation was dire, so I had to rely on my wit and ability to improvise. I racked my brain, and found (2) a hammer in the tool box.

Like a prospector digging for gold, I chipped away at the glacier in our freezer. I won’t lie,  it was not easy work.  Progress was slow. I also had to be very careful not to accidentally hit the delicate glass bottle that promised to deliver a  salty sweet concoction once it was freed from its frozen tundra.  I grew weary, but championed on.  Finally, I felt it budge a bit, and was able to wrench it  from the freezer.

DSCN0159My deserved reward was a delicious margarita (3).

Basically, when you face hardships in your life, I hope you remember what I went through to get that margarita.  I didn’t quit, or whine.  I’m really mostly a legendary hero.  Really, if I can overcome this massive obstacle don’t you think it is kind of silly of you to complain when you lose a job?   Is it really so bad to not be able to afford groceries when yours truly couldn’t have access to a a cocktail for over 30 minutes (that’s 1800 seconds, folks).  I’m just doing my part to keep everything in perspective.  Consider yourselves inspired.


6 Responses to “ The Taking of the Margaritas 123 ”

  1. pancake on July 13, 2009 at 7:59 am

    I am inspired.

  2. Shannon on July 13, 2009 at 8:11 am

    Well really, who wouldn’t be?

  3. anncine on July 13, 2009 at 10:45 am

    I have always hated Sundays too…My Sundays have pretty much become Vodka and tiny scissor events.

  4. Frothy Girl Bro on July 13, 2009 at 8:19 pm

    I like the story and like the Tab in the freezer. We must have been two (2) of the first and youngest adolescents to indulge in the pink cans of colas. Remember the first “sugar free” candy pops brought home. Horrid!

  5. Kristen on July 14, 2009 at 10:26 pm

    I, too have been in this situation… Kit was working late one night. The kids were on my last nerve and I was desperate for some happy juice–in any form. All that was left in the house was a bottle of wine. Yeehaa! I eagerly pierced the cork with the curled needle of the bottle opener, gave a few quick twists, pulled upward and…OH SHIT!…the damned needle stayed taught in place while deviously breaking free from the handle. CRAP! I tossed what remained of the opener and ran around in circles for a few minutes — like a dog chasing its tale — scrubbing my mind in desperation for a solution to my dilemma. Aha, the hand-held power drill would save the day, no doubt! Unfortunately to my dismay, it needed charging. FUCK! I then grabbed the tool box. DAMNIT! No nails. Okay, a screw might work. With hammer in hand and screw between fingers, I carefully tapped the screw into the cork in attempt to loosen the needle so that I might be able to pluck it out with a pair of pliers. In the process the corked plunged into the bottle of wine, needle, screw and all. Alas, the vino was ready to flow. The evening, and my sanity had been savaged for one more day. Cheers!

  6. Shannon on July 14, 2009 at 10:30 pm

    I knew there was a reason we got along so well. Cheers right back at you.