It's too late to drink.

Some eyes are drawing to the whole "drink" of the title of this post.  Already, I see religious people crying out in anger because I used this title.  However, I must say, I used it.  Maleah was whining the other day and I found myself irritated at the whining.  Let's just be real people, if you have kids, you can relate.  She had already had finished up her supper and had been playing somewhere around the house.  Suddenly, she came whining.  Not just about one thing but about everything.  For a moment, I was briefly reminded that I am surrounded by the estrogen ocean.  Barbie dolls haven't been lining our halls but they were tucked safely away in the rooms of their captors.  It started.  "I want...."  The last one was "I want a drink."  My reply; "Honey, it's too late to drink."  Before the sound of "k" came out, I shot Sara a look and began to laugh.  Only in my child's confused eyes was there a straight face.  Never would I have thought I would tell my child that there was a time frame for drinking, especially in our house.  We don't drink.  There's no moral of this story.  There's not a thing that makes it any less funny.  What makes it special?  I will always have a memory of the day my kid asked me for a drink.