This post is about vodka. And peripherally about Russia. Most definitely about my mother.
I really couldn't capture this story better than I just did in email form to my best friend J. Enjoy the slightly edited version based on the email that went to him and his boyfriend.
"Because I'm killing time at a bar before a Brazilian appointment and my clients aren't currently returning my calls, I thought I'd treat you boys to some quasi-drinky texts from my mother last night.
A little background: Holidaze is the annual holiday
shopping extraveganza put on by the Junior League. Every year, Mom
and Dad head on down to the local convention center (by the city gardens) to attend, then argue about who's sober enough to drive home. Post-event small town society drama stories are always a treat for me.
Also, last weekend my mother asked me to pick up some ginger beer from the liquor store because she wanted to make some Moscow Mules (which, as you know, I quite love). I was so proud of her Baptist soul.
Anyhoodle, I started the text conversation with:
"J told me today that Oprah and Gayle had Moscow Mules on their
camping trip the other day. We're so ahead of the trend curve."
Mom replied, four hours later:
"You dork. Where do you think I heard about the recipe!!!! Hahaha!"
Ten minutes later, also from Mom:
"Just got home from mistletoe. Kate N. and many others say hi."
"Hi to Kate N. and many others. And crap. I thought you were just inspired by my post-Gaga tweet months ago about being at the bar with the Mules. Guess we know who's actually ahead of the trend curve now... :)"
"Its all just illusion anyway. :)"
What? What does that even mean?
Then a follow-up 25 minutes later, after I didn't respond. You could
tell she had some time to think about it.
"Soo, don't break J's bubble. He thinks we're trendy. Let him!!"
Gentlemen, my mother...