I had a kinda rocky relationship with my dad when I was a teenager. We lived in the east village in NYC.

When the 2003 blackout happened, we spent the evening up on our roof talking for hours. What started off as a little bit of wine ended up being us polishing off about 3 bottles hashing out what our issues were. Our relationship really improved after that, but I still remember the moment we both realized that my mom (who was out of town at the time) would be pissed if she realized we had gone through that much wine.

We concocted a story that he had accidentally dropped a bag that had two bottles in it. As far as I know she never suspected a thing.