Around 5 PM
the parents were gathering, chilling, on the Kindergarden playground, waiting
for the kids to come out with their lampions. They came and stood round in a
circle, a fire in the middle, singing songs and with their lampions in the
small hands. Lovely. Then they each got a Martin-man out of dough and we all,
parents and children, went to the stand with Kinderpunch (a hot beverage made of juice and spices). We had
been told that the Kinderpunch is free for the kids, and for one and a half
euro for the parents. So I got myself a glass, going straight to the first
stand with a steaming bowl, and invited YA. to take a sip. He smelled and did
not like it, “iiih”. So I drank it all, all alone, walking around, chatting, finally
sitting down to take the last sips. To my surprise all stuff around got blurry,
lampions and decorations started dancing as I stood up. I cannot be that tired,
what was it that I was drinking? The thought of hot wine crossed my spinning head,
YA. was holding my hand tight. Did anybody mention hot wine?
I simply
cannot drink. Well, maybe I did a few times, but just a few sips and then funny
things happened. Like that first time in the village of my grandparents, I was
a child, I got a sip, a really small one, of the hot, aromatic home-made
plum-drink, thought to make the kids strong during winter. It made me kiss all
the church icons on the walls and sing till I fallen asleep. It was that early
that I realized, drinking is fun, but I should maybe let it be. Back to the Kindergarden party, I concentrated heavily, stumbled to the stand with the hot bowl and asked, in a broken and funny German, what´s inside. The confirmation came quick: hot wine, did I want another glass? Oh my God, I got drunk on a glass of hot, red wine. No way driving back home now. I had already been pulled over by the police, just that one time, sober like I always drive. I was cruising in my car in Karlsruhe straight on the tram line, wrong way. The Policeman who stopped me looked like Freud and told me that people like me should never, never be allowed to drive.
Faithfull to the pattern of a lady in distress, I called my hubby, only to realize that he was miles away across the ocean, so no help there. He picked up, laughed at me being so drunk and instructed me to take the tram back home. We did, YA. and me, singing and chatting, me trying to walk straight and keep a low profile, both of us counting the moons and realizing that my moons were outnumbering his by far.
