The party abounded with music, pool ping-pong, croquet, swimming, hot tubbing, and food and alcohol assortments as impressive as Cate Blanchett's acting.
After my mom had socially swallowed a few glasses of wine, my inebriated self ordained she was going to be in no condition to drive hours later. I stole her keys with cat burglar stealth.
That night, my mom hugged me good-bye and said she was going to drive home.
"No, Mom, you are in no condition to drive! I'm going to drive us home. I have much more practice driving under the influence."
"Kara, you've been drinking too!" she reminded me.
This was quite obvious, as I was holding a glass of Chardonnay in my hand during the conversation.
"Yes, but I am a much better drunk driver than you are Mom. I'm driving us home. You are not."
"You drive drunk? That's horrible. You should never drive drunk!" my mom was apparently under the impression that I was a sober seven year old.
"Mom! You're trying to drive drunk right now! I am the designated drunk driver."
"I am not drunk! I've only had a few glasses of wine. And nobody is a designated drunk driver! I'm calling your brother to come pick me up."
My brother arrived and my mom climbed into the passenger seat with Sandra Bullock's gracefulness. I stood at her window talking to them.
"Goodbye Honey," my mom said, "I'll see you at home."
"Ya, I think I'm just going to drive your car home later once I sober up," I imprudently suggested.
"You do not have my keys and I am not giving them to you!" she said.
"Yes I do have them!" I announced as proudly as if I had been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize.
At this, I flaunted them in front of her face like I used to do to my little sister when she desired the bright red crayon. My mom, with Star-Nosed Mole reflexes, snatched them from my hand.
"Not anymore!" she laughed as they drove away.
"Damnit!" I exclaimed, confused how easy it was for my mother to outsmart and out-reflex me.
A friend drove me home.