I don’t know about you, but Taylor Swift is feeling 22. So was I. Literally the age; not the whole dress like hipsters and make fun of our exes. (Making fun of your exes knows no age.)

My 22nd birthday had come and past but because I was still living on college campus I didn’t get to celebrate with my family till a week later on our annual summer vacation to Port Austin, Michigan.

I chose the fanciest restaurant I knew (and the only fancy restaurant): The Bank.

I was totally excited. Apart from celebrating the fabulousness that was my birth, the Bank has always been one of my favorite restaurants that I refuse to miss. It’s like Christmas to me – every year has me eating there. Plus some of my extended family would be there to celebrate. It really was like Christmas: the more the merrier.

So we made reservations for the seven of us (me, my mom & dad, brother, aunt, uncle, and cousin). With dinner being set for 5:30PM there wasn’t much urgency for a happy hour of spirits and appetizers. After all, we all wanted room for our steaks.

Once we arrived at the Bank, we had to wait to be seated as my dad diligently persuaded the waitress to seat us upstairs which I preferred over the downstairs seating, which usually needed to be filled first before upstairs can be used.  While they set table placements for us upstairs, my brother offered Jameson shots to whoever wanted one. My mom – little miss one glass of white wine is my limit – accepted the offer. I – queen of drinks taste better when they’re free – declined. This was where my birthday began to get upstaged.

With more colorful language than I’m going to type, my mother announced ‘holy crap, I’m drunk.’ One shot. Seriously?! My liver must work overtime or her liver just never showed up for work.

That was only the beginning of what I can best describe as our shit-show. Thank every higher power that the restaurant was nice enough to be convinced by my dad to seat us privately upstairs. It was a very good decision on their part.

We were loud, boisterous, and quietly possibly insane. And not everything could be blamed on the alcohol. Although I’d say it was 80% of the factor, but in my mom’s case, it was 100%. She barely made it into her seat, almost opting for the floor when we did get seated. She was falling all over the table, laughing, swearing like a sailor, and sending love everyone’s way – as in she got up and went around the table giving everyone hugs.

I’d never seen my mom so drunk. I’d actually never seen her drunk. (Or heard her swear so much, but that’s a different story.) I was jealous I wasn’t on her level; it was my birthday! Eventually (read: thankfully) bread arrived and was force-fed to her to soak up her alcohol, seeing as she had drank on an empty stomach.

In the meantime, my uncle ordered red wine to celebrate (both my birthday and family – 2 great things). Glasses were passed out (except to my mom – she didn’t need any more) and toasts were made. Glasses were quickly emptied and refilled (and emptied again). We all gabbed merrily. At some points, I couldn’t tell who was talking - and that’s because everyone was.

Before our food arrived, Jameson (and everything else my brother had drunk before coming) hit my brother hard. He was eating his salad and letting the dressing slobber down his chin. (Unfortunately he won’t let me reveal the photographic evidence.) Grabbing for a napkin to wipe his face, upstage number two happened. He spilled wine all over his brand-new yellow shorts.

Everyone backed away from the splash as my brother stared down at his ruined shorts. With dinner arriving shortly there wasn’t much he could do to try getting the stain out. We asked for club soda to help, but in the end he had to sit with a wine stain on his lap.

As the meal progressed we found humor in the situation, but most of all I was wondering how I, at 22, was the sober one. Not that I wanted to spill wine on myself – I was wearing an adorable dress & that would have been a shame – but I was at the party/drink age where I should have been upstaging my parents and having them ask me ‘haven’t you had enough?’. But c'est la vie, dinner continued joyously without much more hassle. That is, till one of us happened to look out the window and spotted some of our friends dining on the porch.

It gave us a brilliant idea to prank them. We were going to have our waitress go tell them that the Kruegers are more fun, jokingly of course (although I wouldn’t deny it being the truth either). It was all set in motion and we kept peeking out the windows, giggling and waiting for it to happen, when all the sudden my brother seemed to have younger child syndrome (despite being older) and needed more attention to upstage and hijack our prank. He sat down at our friend’s table. What was he doing, we wondered, because they weren’t supposed to know we were there. (And when had he left the table?)
It was going to be our waitress randomly telling them that we were better and they’d be extremely confused. My brother cut the confusion and pointed to us up the windows. We all ducked down, trying not to be seen, but it was too late. We were spotted… And squatting on the thirty-five-dollar-a-steak floor… With the busboys eyeing us as though we were crazy. (We weren’t.)

We paid our bill and made our way down to talk with our friends, who graciously invited us back to their place for more drinks once they were done eating. And, of course, to boast that they were the more fun family. Prank backfired. Even they managed to upstage my birthday celebration!

Back at their cottage on Lake Huron, we sat on their deck with the sun setting in hues of pinks and purples. Bottles of wine were dispersed and my brother (who had made a costume change) made sure to stay away from any bottles with red. At least if he spilled white it wouldn’t leave a stain.
Even their wine collection upstaged my family’s choices of liquor. Fancy, exquisite bottles ten years old and special anniversary wine. I think my family had Naked Grape Moscato back at the cottage. Love the stuff, but it costs $5; nothing to brag about.

As the bottles turned into dozens, and the sun set into darkness casting a sea of stars in the sky, the alcohol caught up to everyone, not that it hadn’t been already. It gave us the idea to take shots even though none of us needed it, but it sounded like a fabulous idea. Especially since they were shots with chocolate crème liquor. It was like dessert, one we didn’t get at dinner. I didn’t even have a cake waiting at the cottage, so talk about another upstage that they were giving me my birthday dessert.

Eventually it was time to leave as we stumbled in the dark back to our cottage, the moon shining like a flashlight. The night, while supposed to be about me (do you get the point that I love my birthday because it’s about me and I love me?), it had been fun and full of laughter. And best of all, I didn’t puke in a bush like somebody else, nor did I suffer a half-a-day-long hangover. That was one part everyone could gladly upstage me in.

Brianna Krueger is the Chief Editor for Wandering Educators

All photos courtesy and copyright Brianna Krueger