Lithus went out with a friend the other night for some male bonding time. I was finished work for the day and was waiting on edits, so couldn't do more even if I wanted. The remote control, the Netflix, the stereo, and the wine were mine! All Mine!
I started to feel guilty about 3/4 of the way through the first glass of wine. I was drinking alone... On a weeknight... And I was even thinking about having *gasp* a second glass of wine! It was clear I was only a few steps away from needing rehab.
Mind you, I drink box o'wine because I drink so little of it buying it in bottles is a waste of money. I don't remember when I bought the bottle of rum that's currently half-full. The bottle of vodka that I finally cracked open last Friday has been in the house so long we forgot we had it. If I have a drink 3 consecutive nights, regardless of the situation, I get uncomfortable. I've had a six of Hard Mikes last me a month.
I may not ever be a teetotaler; I don't think I ever need to worry about crossing the line to alcoholism.
So, maybe, the panic was a little over-reactive. I'll give you that. The amusement that followed was worth it.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
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