Spirited away (Week 5)
"After reading about the evils of drinking, I decided to give up reading."
Henny Youngman was more than just the king of the one-liners; he was also keenly aware that abstinence does not make the heart grow fonder. For me, the idea of giving up my nightly tipple was absolutely loathsome, so naturally it became a must-do in my 52-week odyssey. I figured it would come sooner or later, so better to rip the bandaid off in Week 5 and get it over with.
Naturally, I looked ahead in my schedule to see if there might be any "mandatory drinking" occasions. Other than a few work lunches and a weekend dinner party (which was thankfully snowed out) it looked clear.
When I get home from work, the ritual goes pretty much the same. Seconds after my shoes are off, the bottle is losing its cork or cap or lid and the evening is under way. I'm not really a discerning drinker; I just like it all. A random sampling of my cabinet might reveal any spirit—gin, vodka, rum, bourbon, scotch, Irish whisky—it's all in there and it gets attacked with equal gusto.
Poor Val is in a different boat. In 2015, she was diagnosed with an auto-immune liver condition that sent her to the hospital for a week. So she's been on a self-imposed booze holiday for more than 3 years now. She flirted briefly with a super sweet muscat that seemed for a time to do the trick—until it didn't. So while I'm downing my second glass of whatever, she's looking over the rim of her soda water with increasingly disapproving glances.
Given that scenario, you might think that going alcohol-free for seven days might be easier for the partner of a non-drinker. Wrongo! By day one, I knew that this was going to be my toughest week yet, maybe the toughest of the entire year. In my head, I was asking myself "hey, do I have a problem here?" You know, like the reaching-out-for-professional-help kind of problem? I turned to the internet and found 21 warning signs which I thankfully didn't have, so I contented myself by knowing that what I had was a serious craving, but maybe not an actual problem. Yet.
Four days in, I was beginning to notice every drink poured in every Netflix show I watched. Every beer looked fantastic. Every glass of wine looked exotic and decadent. I tried spiffing up my soda water with fruit and berries to make it seem like a cocktail. Not even close.
On day 6, I noticed something new. Even though I had been eating pretty much the same as every other week, my jeans seemed a little looser. What strange magic was at work here? A little casual research told me that my two (admittedly) large glasses of wine every day were adding a minimum of 300 calories that just sloshed around in my growing belly each and every night. Toss in a nightcap of bourbon or whisky for that drowsy sleepy head I love so much, and I'm basically adding a Big Mac to my diet on a daily basis. I made myself a new promise. When I returned to my old friend the bottle, I would cut back at least a little and be a little smarter about the snacks and cookies throughout the day.
Mercifully, Sunday arrived and I had a lovely bottle of shiraz ready and waiting. I had proved to myself that practically anything is possible, while also confirming that life is probably too short to deny myself of the things I simply enjoy. I think, or maybe just silently hope, that Val is with me on this one. Until the warning signs start flashing, I'm back baby!
NEXT WEEK: New untried recipe every day!
Henny Youngman was more than just the king of the one-liners; he was also keenly aware that abstinence does not make the heart grow fonder. For me, the idea of giving up my nightly tipple was absolutely loathsome, so naturally it became a must-do in my 52-week odyssey. I figured it would come sooner or later, so better to rip the bandaid off in Week 5 and get it over with.
Naturally, I looked ahead in my schedule to see if there might be any "mandatory drinking" occasions. Other than a few work lunches and a weekend dinner party (which was thankfully snowed out) it looked clear.When I get home from work, the ritual goes pretty much the same. Seconds after my shoes are off, the bottle is losing its cork or cap or lid and the evening is under way. I'm not really a discerning drinker; I just like it all. A random sampling of my cabinet might reveal any spirit—gin, vodka, rum, bourbon, scotch, Irish whisky—it's all in there and it gets attacked with equal gusto.
Poor Val is in a different boat. In 2015, she was diagnosed with an auto-immune liver condition that sent her to the hospital for a week. So she's been on a self-imposed booze holiday for more than 3 years now. She flirted briefly with a super sweet muscat that seemed for a time to do the trick—until it didn't. So while I'm downing my second glass of whatever, she's looking over the rim of her soda water with increasingly disapproving glances.
Given that scenario, you might think that going alcohol-free for seven days might be easier for the partner of a non-drinker. Wrongo! By day one, I knew that this was going to be my toughest week yet, maybe the toughest of the entire year. In my head, I was asking myself "hey, do I have a problem here?" You know, like the reaching-out-for-professional-help kind of problem? I turned to the internet and found 21 warning signs which I thankfully didn't have, so I contented myself by knowing that what I had was a serious craving, but maybe not an actual problem. Yet.
Four days in, I was beginning to notice every drink poured in every Netflix show I watched. Every beer looked fantastic. Every glass of wine looked exotic and decadent. I tried spiffing up my soda water with fruit and berries to make it seem like a cocktail. Not even close.
On day 6, I noticed something new. Even though I had been eating pretty much the same as every other week, my jeans seemed a little looser. What strange magic was at work here? A little casual research told me that my two (admittedly) large glasses of wine every day were adding a minimum of 300 calories that just sloshed around in my growing belly each and every night. Toss in a nightcap of bourbon or whisky for that drowsy sleepy head I love so much, and I'm basically adding a Big Mac to my diet on a daily basis. I made myself a new promise. When I returned to my old friend the bottle, I would cut back at least a little and be a little smarter about the snacks and cookies throughout the day.
Mercifully, Sunday arrived and I had a lovely bottle of shiraz ready and waiting. I had proved to myself that practically anything is possible, while also confirming that life is probably too short to deny myself of the things I simply enjoy. I think, or maybe just silently hope, that Val is with me on this one. Until the warning signs start flashing, I'm back baby!
NEXT WEEK: New untried recipe every day!
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