Could I Even Make This Up?

Tonight at the Saturday Night Fever AA meeting, I sat admiring my ox blood red Doc Martens.  (I was admiring them between speakers, okay?)  I bought these shoes about 14 years ago.  They still look damn good.  And I love them.  Always have.

Back in the heyday of my drinking, before things got tragic back when they were still just “wild” and I “partied a lot,” I took such pride in these ox blood red Doc Martens that they had their own special place in the back of my closet.  I have never been particularly tidy, and I wanted to ensure that no other, lesser shoes got thrown on top of them.

One night, my girlfriend and I had been to Brothers (in Tallahassee), where I am sure copious amounts of Bud Light and quite a few tequila shots were consumed.  When I crashed after drinking, I always slept really hard.  I woke up, a bit dazed,  feeling a tremendous amount of relief … until I realized that the relief was because I was peeing in my closet… IN MY DOC MARTENS!

Holy shit.  Dude, I peed in my favorite pair of shoes.

And, no, it did not occur to me that I might have a problem.  It did, however, occur to me to close my closet doors at night from then on.

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