I Can’t Get Drunk On a Riverboat

 It’s true. I can’t get drunk anywhere. 

Ah, the complacency of sobriety. Giving up the ghost at last. 

John surprised me by booking us a dinner date on the riverboat the Lady Dolphin of Daytona (I think it looks prettier in italics). All he told me was “we’re leaving at quarter to five. Dinner is at six. Wear something warm.”

I just figured we were going out to eat like normal. But I had to ask “are we going someplace ‘nice?’ I’m only asking because I want to know if I need to dress up.” And that’s my logic. Any reason to wear a dress is a worthy cause to me, because they hang in the closet so desperate and full of potential. Just like the alcoholic raging inside of me, let me out! (I’m sorry ma’am but you’re doomed to hang in that closet indefinitely, and hopefully perish).  

So to my dismay, most of the women waiting in line were clad in their best summer dress, and here I was in bell bottoms. John thinks dressing up is overrated, which is why he habitually wears jeans and sandals everywhere. It’s Florida. It’s not a fashion show. And its not high school prom (yet I’m still waiting to get into that beautiful ball gown as part of my butterfly transformation).

Anyways, here we were on this “luxury” liner (okay, just a river ferry with a paddle) cruising the Halifax and enjoying our meals: I opted for the turkey dinner, thanksgiving style (hooray for cranberry sauce!), and John indulged in the prime rib entree, with a side of ribs. It was delicious, although the bobbing motion made a tad nauseous at first, once I filled my belly the feeling went away. They served brownies and key lime pie for dessert, and even though there was a soda fountain on the boat, not one drop of coffee to be found (wah). In my mind, dessert = coffee. Actually, it’s a law. Please abide.

In lieu of caffeine, people were taking advantage of the bar (which cost extra, as did the prime rib), walking past me with pretty pink drinks in plastic cups and bottles of Corona with lime. Hey, I’m on a boat. Hey, I’m in Florida. Hey, I’m sober. I envied their enjoyment for one second, then gorged on my own pride that am I able to do every activity that drinkers do…and maybe better.

However, I can’t sing along to Sweet Caroline, the YMCA, or do the Macarena. My sober body just refuses to participate. So, this was a party boat. I came unprepared. 

We were handed two blue tickets because the boat had a raffle for prizes. And guess what one of the prizes was?: your choice between a bottle of Ron Carlos rum or a bottle of some high end vodka, or if you’re underage (because I should just start saying I’m “underage” instead of sober), a nice brand new painting from the Bob Ross School of Art. I thought, oh my god, what if I win that raffle? (Oh yes I’d love a piece of art for my trailer!). It really made me laugh, and no I didn’t win (but I’m still winning!).

Nonetheless, I enjoyed every minute of the boat ride, from the food to the scenic view to smoking a few cigarettes on the edge of the boat (surprisingly actually permitted, though not endorsed). 

And I’d do it all over again.

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