Mr. Irish

This is my best effort recollection of my night out for Justincredible's twenty sixth birthday. My date was Mr. Irish.
Bear with me:
5:30pm - I begin cooking dinner for my kids and the family of my sitter. The Meat has rum in his freezer. Technically, I already have a sitter. And I did promise Justincredible that I would get FUN. Sip.
6:30pm- The kids need baths, immediately. They are covered in food, sweat, baby powder...(yeah, I don't know), and chocolate. I still need to make eclairs for my birthday gift. The Meat's girlfriend, MILM (Mom I'd like to MARRY), picks out clothes for me. She's wicked hot so I trust her opinion entirely. I try to navigate to the bathtub, sticky children in tow, while keeping the clothes free of kid gunk.
6:32pm- Success.
6:45pm-Kids are bathed. I wrestle with my son to get his teeth brushed. I set the world record for "Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?" speed reading. I desperately need a shower. At this point I look like this:

Bag of smashed assholes



Note the lack of makeup, frazzled loook, frumpy, stained clothing. Hot, right? What you can't see is that I'm sticky, have chocolate smeared in inconvenient places, and smell like roadkill and hot garbage.
Who wouldn't want to date me?
7:05pm - I shower. The kids are pissed about bedtime tonight. They keep coming to the bathroom door. I need to shave like, everything. I think this is why I don't bother going out. I immediately speed-dress, do my hair and makeup and strap on shoes. Now I have to finish making eclairs. I can't find my pastry bag, so they're fucking cream puffs. I need to be ready in less than a hour.
Now I look like this:

Thanks, MILM!

 It's a whole typed page to get ready.
8;00pm-Mr. Irish arrives. He has bought me a pack of cigarettes. Nice. I go to give him the money for them. He refuses. Nice.
8:20pm-We head over to Justincredible's place to pre-game, as the  young people say.
8:30pm- We start taking shots. SoCo, hundred proof. Totally one and done. It tastes like nail polish remover. All I have to chase it is a rum and coke. Fuck. Not good.
8:32pm - I'm already dancing. My volume control is waning. I don't really go out or drink...this is going to be rough. I offer to take out Justincredible's trash. Mr. Irish does it for me. He's really nice.
8:34pm-No one will do another shot. I do.
8:35pm- I go to check on my friend, Hot Mom. She is getting ready and looks, well, hot. She is upset because the father of her baby was not invited to go out. I think he is a dick and I'm not one hundred percent upset, but I am sympathetic. I know what it's like to love someone who isn't capable of giving it back.
8:44pm - My friend Jenn stops by on her way from work. She expresses shock and confusion with my decision to go out, because I "never go out." I beg her to join us. She declines.
9:00pm- We leave. The Meat is outside smoking when we leave. I lean out Mr. Irish's car window and yell at him. We are NOT EVEN AT THE BAR YET. My kids are going to blush in shame in ten to twelve years....
9:05pm - We arrive at the bar. It is dead. Absolutely dead. I yell at Justincredible and everyone else at the table, "This is unacceptable!" I bang my fist on the table to emphasize my point. I'm pretty sure I'm the loudest person in this bar. I try to coerce the table to go to Chippendales. I am unsuccessful. In hindsight, I'm pretty glad.
9:15pm - Hot Mom is really upset. She wants to leave. I try to console her, but my count at this point is one rum and pepsi, two shots of SoCo, and one beer. I am not particularly effective, so I turn my efforts to getting a partner in kareoke. I lean over to Mr. Irish and whisper in his ear. He declines. Bummer. But he's nice enough to buy my drinks all night and try to cheer up my distressed friend. He's definitely a good friend.
10:00pm- One more beer, one more shot. Now things are fuzzy. I know the women in the bathroom are telling me how beautiful I am. Mr. Irish is nice, but we're not having very substantial conversation, as I am not capable.
11:30pm - Mr. Irish and I leave. I think Hot Mom is still upset. The bar is still relatively dead. I say goodbye to Justincredible and everyone else. I decide that I owe him a better night, and will pay up in the near future.
7:00am - I wake up. I am not hung over, thank God. But I'm still in my clothes, except for my underwear (...????), earrings and all. My far molar on the left side is EXCRUTIATING. I don't know why. My right knee is scraped. I am slightly ashamed. I did drink excessively, but really not that much. I am a cheap date.
Dear Mr. Irish:
You're a really nice guy. It was fun, from my recollection. Thanks for babysitting me. I think I left my lipgloss, ten dollars, and my dignity in your car.

Tip for my next date:
Watch the liquor, two-beer. You can't accomplish much with a man if you're too busy falling in the parking lot.