I’m proud of Beth. Sort of.

After a hard night of drinking and smoking and card-playing and carousing into the wee hours last night, and after sleeping ’til 1:00 in the afternoon today and then drag-assing around the house all afternoon moaning about how lousy she felt, Beth announced that she wanted to go to the gym. And we did, and she lifted her weights and put in her time on the treadmill and sweated and made everyone around her drunk with the tequila fumes coming out of her pores. On the way home she announced that she felt much better and was glad we had gone to work out.

“I feel all healthy now,” she said. And then she said, “I’m going to stop at 7/11. I need cigarettes.”

Two steps up, one step back.