Heavenly Hangover

Last night, I was sitting watching the Real Housewives of New York City, marveling over the sheer amount of arrogance, stupidity, and tackiness that can be packed into a 60 minute period. The proper way to watch RHofNYC is with a glass of wine or a cocktail. Apparently, I was not the only person to feel this way.

About 40 minutes into the program I heard loud cracking sounds. I looked out of my window to see ice cubes falling from heaven! It was as though the angels were making a Chicago cocktail – and they wanted it shaken, not stirred. I can’t say that I blame them – to truly get a good freeze on a cocktail, you really need to shake it. All stirring it does is melt the ice cubes and water down your strawberry-basil mojito. (RIP Martini Park). Anyway, I should have known something was up with the little cherubs started putting on a light show without any rain showers. Silver beams of light were cutting across the sky, in the pattern of a drunken woman’s walk after a night Vegas – as she stumbles her way back to a hotel room with only a shred of hope that the door she picks (#2?) is actually her room. Funny thing is, I’ve lived in this part of the country my entire life, and I’ve never seen hail this big. And I’ve certainly never seen it in July. I’m still trying to figure out how the little buggers managed to send ice cubes down while it was still in the 70s…

Well, after a night of angelic debauchery, the earth was certainly suffering a hangover. The streets were filled with all kinds of arboreal carnage. There was a carpet of leaves on the sidewalk – which, while romantic when in reference to the greenery of a pasture in a romance novel*, is not so idyllic in the middle of a city. On top of that, there were branches and sticks and all kinds of natural shenanigans on the ground. But, on the upside, the birds were still tweeting (in the bird-singing sense, not in the Anthony Wiener sense).

I wonder, are there several angels on a time out in heaven? Is there a legal drinking age in heaven?



*And, while I’m on the subject of carpets of leaves and grass and whatnot, who wants to walk on that? I mean seriously, if you’re in the middle of being romanced, shouldn’t you be wearing sexy sexy stilettos? If so, aren’t your heels sinking? Isn’t that, you know, the opposite of sexy? Ok. Just checking.