I never drank until college, and my mom learned that a fun way one day.
The summer before my senior year of high school, a neighbor moved and gave us tiny bottles of liquor since they didn’t want them to break during the move. Or maybe they wanted my family to get very slightly drunk.
I had come home from school and was hanging out in the kitchen, probably staring at our food and wondering why my mom hates me (we never, not once, had an endless supply of doughnuts).
A thought came to me.
“Hey mom … can I try a shot of whiskey?”
I explained to her that I wanted to see if it’s like in the movies. If I took a shot, would I then involuntarily sort of wheeze/cough?
It’s pathetic what a mamma’s boy I am.
She agreed to it, I won’t even guess at her line of thinking during all of this.
She opened the tiny bottle, got out a shot glass (which I was surprised to see), and poured me a shot.
I grinned, picked it up, pretended to be like some sort of pro-alcoholic, and boom!, took the shot.
It worked! It was just like I’d pictured, except for just about everything, starting with the fact that my Mother poured the shot.