While writing that last sentence, I ran upstairs to ask Coco and Bobby if "sod" was an endearing term for a drunkard. "Um ... no."
Wino? "I mean, yeah, that's affectionate ... if the drunkard in question is homeless."
Pisshead? "Uh, that's like the opposite of affectionate."
Alcoholic "Nah ... that's like when you get beat-your-kid drunk."
We couldn't come up with anything that affectionately refers to someone who drinks a lot. Then Coco offers, "Well, when I was growing up, I only knew one drunkard and I called her Mom."
So there's that.
My oldest chirren is now a teenage boy ... and smells like fucking curry. I'm serious. He reeks. Coco kept telling people to buy him deodorant for his birthday. Besides the smell, the faux-party with the fam was fun. Except Francois Philippe totally thought my presents were lame. I got him The Audacity of Hope and Flowers for Algernon. And, of course, I wrote a sappy inscription on the title page (Francois Philippe, the times they truly are a-changing and it's an exceptional time to be young and hopeful). Which he read out loud. Which was awkward. And then Coco took a picture of us and I'm all MAGGIE GARCIA'S TRADEMARK HEADTILT + TOOTHY SUPAHMODEL SMILE and Francois Philippe is all YOU FAILED ME, NANNYGARCIA. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE WHO GOT ME A REALLY COOL PRESENT, LIKE A BONG, AND THEN YOU HAND ME THIS BAG FROM BORDERS? WHAT.THE.FUCK??
God, I feel old.