Bad idea, ladies.

So, a friend of ours was enjoying an adult beverage on the porch of a popular bar in Five Points recently. Apparently, it was his lucky day, because he ended up chatting with three attractive young things, roommates. One of them mentioned her pending DUI*. Our friend asked if she had a lawyer (God bless people like him!) and, lo and behold, she had retained the best guy in town, TF.

"Oh," our dear pal reassured her, "He's good. You'll be fine."

"Wow," her big-eyed friend breathed, "I have JL for mine. Is he good?"

"Um, yeah, he's great."

"Really?" gulped the third crazy drunk girl. "LL is doing mine. How's he?"

After assuring her that LL is also a fine attorney, our friend thoughtfully explained the concept of a designated driver. As it happens, they were designating a DUI Recipient each evening, taking turns. Is it even worth mentioning they only lived a five-minute walk from the bar? Eh. Where am I going with this? Not sure, really, because I don't think any of my well-educated readers need a lecture on the ills of driving under the influence. But really, y'all. It's not funny. It's dangerous and can get you in a whole hell of a lot of trouble. Should you make a mistake and do it anyway, do call TF, because he may be able to help. JL and LL are pretty good, too, but their fees won't send my kids to college.

And you know, the kids are watching everything. The X-Man wrote a short, mandatory piece about me for Mother's Day. I love this stuff; reading it is one of the great joys of motherhood. But, um, one line read,

"My mom loves going to wine tasting contests."

First of all, what sort of contest is he imagining? A blind taste test in which the person who makes the most correct identifications wins a plate of cheese fries? With jalapeños? Or, God forbid, who can drink the most? I'd lose both of those. Contrary to what I write, I don't really drink that much (I'm the same size as I was before children. Do you really think that would be possible if I guzzled half as much as I claim? Really? You are living in an imaginary dream world.)

So, does he think I'm a drunk or a true sophisticate? He's my little gourmet. The other day, we were at Rosewood Market (best place in town to pick up guilt-free takeout for the children's dinner because you have plans to abandon them later and go on a wild Tuesday evening drinking spree enjoy sophisticated banter with friends over cups of hot tea.) We rounded the corner and came upon the container of free coffee. Regular or decaf, it is served in tiny little paper cups and is the only coffee I drink since my big detox.

"May I have some coffee?"

"Sure," I answered, racking my brain for a reason I should say no. Like, will a tablespoon of decaf loaded with milk and sugar stunt his growth or make him crazy or turn him gay? I'd actually be okay with gay, because I don't believe anything turns people one way or the other. If you disagree, I think you are wrong. So there. But I digress. I couldn't come up with a single thing, so I stuck with "Sure."

I don't think it's nice to call too much attention to my children's various personality experiments. There's a fine line between asking and mocking. Mocking your offspring, to their face, is uncool. This much I know. I couldn't resist, though. As we perused the produce, he was eying red pepper and local asparagus with a gleam in his cute little gourmet eye.

"So, um, when did you start drinking coffee?"

"Friday."

Well, now I know.

Namasté, y'all!

* DWI to some of you. Drivin' Stoopid to others.