I did not drink until I turned 21. Really and seriously not even a little. Even after I turned 21, I had no real interest in drinking. Boone’s Farm was about as far as I went. Please don’t mock me, I was naive. It wasn’t until I moved into a mansion in Newport, Rhode Island for an eight month gig (I know, my life is hard) that I realized that being drunk was a thing that actually happened to real people. You see, we lived in a gorgeous mansion and only worked 9 to 5, so some nights after work we would go out on the veranda and have a few drinks while gazing out over the beautiful ocean.
To get to the veranda you had to cross through the ballroom, which was modeled after the hall of mirrors in the Palace of Versailles. There were hundreds of mirrors on the walls that reflected the ocean view and the glowing parquet floor. It was a beautiful ballroom, and a death trap if you got stuck in there playing laser tag.
One beautiful summer night, I was out on the veranda with the rest of the cast, and someone gave me Goldschläger. For those of you who have never had Goldschläger, don’t. Eat a hot ball. You’ll be better off. Unfortunately, no one had ever given young-little-me that advice. So, I tasted the forbidden fruit and was drunk before 6:30pm. Realizing that being the only drunk kid at the barbeque was never a good position to be in, I decided to make my way back to my room to sleep it off.
I went into the ballroom, closed the door behind me, and instantly realized my horrible mistake. The room was one sparkling mass of mirrors with sneakily hidden door knobs. Door knobs that were determined to play a wicked game of hide and seek with the drunk girl. I stumbled around the room leaving unfortunate fingerprints on the antique mirrors before getting dizzy and deciding to lay on the floor. Then I realized the obvious solution to the sneaky doorknob conundrum: I would roll across the floor until I found a wall, and somehow that wall, that very wall would have a door knob.
I rolled with all my might, but it was a really big ballroom, and I was rolling in large ovals. So when my fiancé found me twenty minutes later, I had still never found the door. He took me upstairs and tucked me in. I would love to say he kept my little ballroom secret, but everyone knew by the next day.
At least I did learn two valuable lessons that evening: Goldschläger is bad, and don’t roll around on the ballroom floor. Just curl up in a ball and sleep it off.
I am actually visiting Versailles today! Please leave me lots of comments for when I get back next week. I won’t respond for a bit, but they’ll make me really happy when I get home!