Hard knocks

We learned our drinking lessons the hard way growing up but by the time we reached middle-age we had it pretty dialed in. Unfortunately, we are having to relearn the hard way again as new-comers in this country. They don't meter the shots here; plus, the cachaça can be a little moonshine-y and the caipirinhas can get rough.  On the day I virtually attended a buddy's wedding I was feeling warm and happy after my first caipirinha so I ordered another. I had eaten very little. The drinks were very big, served in mason jars and filled with a cachaça made by the devil himself. I don't remember that much more about the evening. I wasn't driving, I made it home and I am truly grateful that Carol wasn't there to witness what occurred. Carol knew this and we discussed the red flags and tried to learn from the experience but some things have to be relearned the hard way, again. We were trying to soothe our sad selves last Monday, listening to some music having drinks down by the canal when she ordered a second caipirinha. She was feeling much better after the first one. Talking bem good in Portuguese. Not eating much. We got her home and she is recovered but it was not pretty. I hope we learned this time because, frankly, we are getting too old for this shit.