Nothing better instilled in me the virtues of delayed gratification than the Easter mornings of my childhood.
Mom, a devout Catholic, would rouse her sleeping children, dress us up in itchy church clothes, and scoot us out the door through a maze of pastel foil-covered eggs, dotting every surface of the house.
Our groggy eyes would grow wide and we’d salivate like a pack of ravenous golden retrievers, but we weren’t allowed to have anything until we got home from Easter Mass. I was Aladdin, tip-toeing through the Cave of Wonders, not permitted to touch any treasures until I retrieved the magic lamp for Jafar, else risk eternal damnation.
Except in the Catholic version, we had to go repent for our sins and do penance before we could come home and eat our weight in cheap chocolate.
I think Mom was trying to teach us to be good Catholics. (We weren’t church-on-Christmas-and-Easter-people. We were hardcore tour-with-the-band-pew-sitters.)
Well… I’m a shitty Catholic. But that doesn’t mean she failed. Here’s why:
I’m pretty good at the wine part. 10/10
Practicing delayed gratification as a kid made hard things a lot easier to handle as an adult. I don’t feel like I struggled as much as other people.
So thanks, Mom. 💗
And I hope y’all have a restful, chocolate-and-wine filled Easter (regardless of whether you celebrate.)
Cheers! 🍷
-Kristin
P.S. — Don’t worry, I’ll be back in your inbox next Sunday with a full-length edition of Drunk Business Advice.