Last night involved good music, beer, throw-up, and a nasty smelling car ride home.
The day started out full of promise. Hubs scored tickets to go backstage to be VIP with one of his favorite bands that was playing at a festival in Chicago. We dropped the kiddos off with my mom and dad and hit the road.
We had gotten a bit of a late start and neither of us had eaten anything. Hubs informed me that we didn't have time to stop anywhere, not even a drive through. I must have looked exceptionally hungry and ill from the hunger pains because he finally conceded and drove through a McDonalds. We still made it on time, and the festival had food so I wasn't too worried about it. Plus, the fest had food, so I wasn't too worried about this. I'll return to this point in a bit....
Anyway, the backstage area was really just the different bands and their vans/trucks with a beverage tent (a.k.a - The beer tent) and security milling around. We met the band and had a photo op with them. Then they pointed us in the direction of their own tent, which had the hard liquor. Neither of us had some of their stock, but Hubs was all about the free beer. I stuck with water because I kind of had a feeling of what was coming.
The band's set was great! After they were done I wanted to go get some food because all I'd had to eat was that darn bag of fries and a coke. Hubs, however, was more into talking to the band. Okay, I got it....but I was hungry! I eventually wandered back to the stage area to listen to the bands that were next. By the time I went back to Hubs, he was three sheets to the wind.
I do not do Chicago traffic. I get nervous just driving down 94 or 294 but I DO NOT drive actually on Chicago city streets. I realized that my big no-no was about to happen when I saw my husband holding himself up by the tent pole. He was slurring his words and swaying a little. It was time to go! Tearing him away from the band members, who he loves, was difficult, but I finally looked at him and told him I was leaving.
Luckily we were right by the interstate and got on easily. Down the road, Hubs started asking if I wanted to stop at Joe's Crab Shack for dinner. Before we got there, however, he threw up in the car. Yeah, nasty. He managed to throw up mostly in a cup, but some of it went on his leg. Even more disgusting, he set the cup into the cup holder so I was driving down the road with a cup of puke next to me. DAMMIT.
We did not stop for food, and I didn't drive through either. I just wanted to get home. I did stop and have him throw out the cup o' puke, but my hunger, which had been growing all day, was gone. (Gee, I wonder why???)
I got home, dumped Hubs off, grabbed my car that did not smell like puke, and went to get my kids. I got them home, in bed, and by then I was too exhausted to get food. So, the nice day turned ended kind of crappy.
This morning Hubs was pretty apologetic. The thing is, it wasn't one specific thing that made me mad. I got that he'd drink, I got that he'd be a little starry-eyed at the band members. But he went over, way over, on the drinking. He acted like some stupid kid who didn't know how to handle his alcohol. I told him this morning that out of all the people there, he filled his cup up the most. He agreed. He acted like a fool, and that's the part I hated the most.
As we were leaving one of the band members told me that I was a saint. Damn, I hate when people tell me that. His therapist has told me I'm a saint, our pastor has told me I'm such a saint, friends, family....and now some dude at an outdoor concert who met us 2 hours earlier was telling me this? He just can't do anything in moderation, and it drives me crazy. Most people tell me I'm a saint because they know his issues....his PTSD issues. This guy meant it because Hubs was really far gone and I hadn't had a drop of beer because I knew I'd have to drive him home and because I had to somehow get him to the car. Either way, it sucks. I don't want to have to be a saint.