The More I Drink

My wife went on a Girl's Night Out last night. That's fine with me. She does a lot around here (and puts up with a lot...) so she deserves a night or two to kick up her heels and blow off a little steam.

The only problem is that it leaves me home alone, and I have no self-control.

The evening started off innocently enough. I shared a couple of beers with the dogs.

Hey, what can I say? They're Texas dogs. They like Shiner. I take a sip, give them a little sip, and then it's lather-rinse-repeat.

I am careful not to give them too much. We split one bottle between the three of us, then I cut them off. I don't want them to get in trouble for BWI (Barking While Intoxicated).

Next, I started prepping meat for this weekend. We're having a small get-together Friday night, and I'll be grilling. Just for fun, we'll have antelope, beef, elk, and venison. All the cuts of meat are the same, and I'm preparing them the same. It'll be a blind taste test to see if our guests can tell which meat comes from what animal.

The marinade I'm using calls for red wine. The amount needed is less than a full bottle. However, I suffer from Blake Shelton disease ("The more I drink, the more I drink").

Somehow, the leftover wine that didn't go into the marinade turned into Rebecca Creek Whiskey (It's Texas in a glass).

It was fun while it lasted...