The next morning, Adam staggers into the kitchen to give Kristina a full report. "Honey, how many margaritas did you have?" she asks, seeing him stumble around in his underwear and bedhead. "Just two," he groans. We must now pause for me to tell the legendary story of My Husband, Chris, and the White Lightening. The man is, frankly, a champion booze-holder. I mean, why marry him, otherwise? We had some times, pre-child, that would go down in history if we could only clearly remember them. But this one night, my friend James and I challenged Chris and James's wife to a game of Rook. Let me cut to the chase: we were all drunk; James and I were the only ones who knew how to play Rook; James's daddy is a butcher in rural North Carolina and occasionally takes payment from his longtime clients in the form of livestock and/or home-brewed corn liquor. James had a mason jar (what else?) full of the latter, and AGAINST ALL SPOUSAL ADVICE, my husband -- who is from New Jersey, first of all, and secondly had already had enough other forms of alcohol to drink by this point that he drunk-dialed MY MOM during the Rook game to get tips on how to win -- thought he might try a sip. It only takes a sip, people, please remember that. That sip lead us to Waffle House at some unchristian hour the next day for the hangover cure. But, get this, brother was TOO hung over to save himself. The man was eating hashbrowns one hash at a time. I have honestly never seen anything like it before or since and I tell the story now to serve as a warning to you all.
ANYWAY. Adam is fumbling around in the fridge while Kristina rushes Max through his breakfast, reminding him that Gaby will be there any minute. When Max runs out to go to his room, Adam sarcastically drops the news that Gaby will probably be calling in sick today. "I saw her at the bar last night," he says. "And if two margaritas did this to me, I can only imagine what 10 shots of tequila did to her." Kristina is amazed. "Sticker-system Gaby was shooting tequila last night?" she asks. Adam says yeah, it was like a Girls Gone Wild video. He says he can't believe Gaby can spend all day with kids like Max and then just go out and leave it all behind. This opens the door for the obvious joke to be made about "that's why she drinks tequila" or something, but instead Kristina asks if Adam thinks Gaby leaves there and goes home and worries about Max all night, or something. "That's what I do," Adam shoots back, and... again, that could not have been written by a writer. I mean, right? Because WHY would Adam think this person they're paying would have the same level of anxiety as he does about his son?