As is the custom for Weevy’s school, the teachers in the 2’s program pay a home visit to all the students — in order, I suppose, to observe them in an environment in which they’re totally comfortable and not missing Mommy/Daddy/Nanny. And probably to make sure the parents aren’t caning them or something.
I’m a spirits reviewer, so I get a lot of bottles of liquor in the mail. And I’m also a hoarder, so I don’t unload as many of them as I should. “This whiskey isn’t that great,” I often think, “but hey, I can’t use the really good stuff in cocktails. I need mediocre whiskey in case, you know, we’re having a big party and I need to make punch or something.” Never mind that we’ve had one party since Weevy was born more than two years ago and I’ve never actually made punch or anything close to it. It’s just how my mind works.
Now, we live in Manhattan. And while our apartment is pretty big by Manhattan standards, that doesn’t mean it’s very big. We’ve got liquor bottles just about everywhere I can think to store them, but even that’s not enough. So there are bottles on the bedroom floor, on the living room floor, on the bar, on the floor behind the bar, on the dining table, you name it.
Of course, Weevy has never expressed any interest in said bottles. No, wait, I take that back — for a little while she was intrigued by the 50 ml “airline bottles” I often had lying around. But I put those on a high shelf in an armoire where she can’t see them and all is now well. Anyway, my point is that she’s not becoming an alcoholic merely by seeing a few dozen bottles lying around the house. In fact, I think she ignores them as much as my wife and I do. But a teacher whose job it is to look after the welfare of her students, and who barely knows me at all, might think a little differently.
So you can understand my slight panic at the thought of Penny, Weevy’s teacher, seeing more booze than we could drink in a decade sitting in our living room and immediately calling Child Protective Services. After much deliberation — a good five minutes at least — we decided to take the vast majority of the bottles on the floor in various rooms and stick them all in the bathroom. We’re blessed with two bathrooms, so we’d steer Penny to the boozeless one if need be.
The whole thing wound up being unnecessary. Penny was half an hour late and Weevy was too exhausted after a morning of sobbing and wailing in school (a whole ‘nuther story, don’t ask) to stay awake. So Wifey and Penny and I chatted for a while in the hallway and that was it. Crisis averted.
For six days, at least. She’s coming back on Monday. The big question — do I move the bottles from the bathroom between now and then? Or do we just make sure not to kick them when we get out of the shower?