I’m at my Grandma’s dinner table. Dinner’s done, delicious meal, my Grandma’s home cooked Lebanese food. Forget about it.
To my left is my cousin Grant. To my right, my cousin Greg. We’re all in our forties, they’ve both got divorces under their belt, luckily, I’m keeping mine in one piece.
We’re chatting, catching up.
I ask Grant, to my left, how’s your girlfriend?
He says, we broke up, right after we got back from the Cayman Islands. I say, that’s too bad. I liked her. He says, yeah. She’s too thick headed.
I say, what happened, brief explanation.
He says, it was stupid. We got into a fight…
I delve, what was the fight about?
He says, I don’t know, it started, you know, we were both, two sheets with the wind…
I stop him right there.
Two sheets with the wind? I don’t think that’s right. I think it’s three sheets to the wind.
He says, three sheets with the wind?
No. Three sheets TO the wind.
He says, three sheets to the wind? Is that right?
I say, I think that’s it. Lemme check.
I get out my new iPhone 6 plus. Yeah, it’s big. It’s ostentatious. I love it.
I type in, three sheets to…
Yep, it comes up, as a suggestion, three sheets to the wind.
“To be explicitly drunk; inebriated.
Origin: Sheets actually refer to the ropes that are used to secure a ship’s sail. If the 3 ropes used were loose in the wind, the sail would flop around, causing the ship to wobble around, much like a drunk.
Margo was three sheets to the wind by the time we made it to Doug’s party, judging by her inability to keep her clothes on.”
You know, in retrospect, I didn’t even find out what the fight was about, why they broke up.
But we cleared shit up with the sheets and the wind.