Friday night we went to see Madagascar. I'd read reviews that called it mediocre, so I wasn't expecting much. As a result, I enjoyed it quite a bit. Our four-year-old lost interest at some point, but still did pretty well staying in her seat even as she squirmed within it. People said the penguins were the best part, and they were good, but I didn't think they outshone the rest of the movie by quite that much.
It was fun to sit in an audience of laughing children. We were seated pretty close to the screen, so we could hear all the kids behind us when they laughed. There's certainly simple joy in child laughter.
Saturday there was some shopping for food and other errand-style items.
Sunday night we got together with a friend of ours who mixed me a drink whose exact contents I never fully grasped. What it meant, ultimately, was that I'd finally been served an alcoholic drink girlie enough for me to consume.
When I was well underage, my mom gave me a tiny bit of amaretto. I had trouble drinking it, and likely did not have enough to have any effect. A few years ago, my wife made me a drink that I made an effort to quaff completely, but it took a long time to get it all down, and I didn't really notice it.
Sunday night, however, they tell me that I had what they considered to be quite a bit to drink, and in very little time. My wife said what I had would have put her on the floor. It made me dizzy. I'm 31 years old, and I've just passed a landmark event that many people have had by the time they're 18. If my wife is to be believed, I held what I drank pretty well, so I take a certain unearned macho pride in that, but I'm not sure what else to make of the experience. I didn't much see the point of it.
Monday I did laundry all day with a break to visit another friend of ours whose movie I had not taken the time to return in many months. I'm not proud.
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