I’ve given up alcohol for a month.
It was last night that did me in, but not in the way you might think. Mondays are Half Price Wine Nights at the classy(ish) lounge three blocks away from my apartment, and occasionally some close friends and I tack together an impromptu gathering of women (a Ladies’ Night, if you will — though that suggests a certain level of classiness that we never attain during these bawdy, irresponsible events. Genitalia are invariably mentioned and laughed about and sometimes specimens are examined on someone’s smartphone, and everyone drinks twice more than usual, ultimately bringing our tabs to the same amount they would’ve been had we just come on Regular Price Wine Night and drank our usual, mature 1-2 glasses).
No, it was not the wine itself that brought about my downfall. It was the out-of-control appetite that tends to rear up from some deep, tamped-down place inside of me any time a drop of booze touches my tongue. Give me one sip and I turn into a ravenous beast who can and will eat all edibles within a certain radius.
This is what I ate last night (and all this after a full dinner at home, mind you):
-half of a Guiness Cheddar Fondue
-a giant blueberry waffle with peanut butter and tons of fake syrup
-an order of hash browns with cheese melted on top
-my friend’s sausage-cheese-egg biscuit (minus the sausage: even when tipsy I cannot forget the article I once read about how pigs sing to their babies at night)
Is it healthy to eat this way, two day’s worth of saturated fat in a single sitting? No. But sometimes it’s just Half Price Wine Night and all this talk of penises makes you hungry for greasy foods, and when someone suggests you go to Waffle House out off of Highway 65 you say, You know what? Yes. Let’s Go to Waffle House! and Baba O’Riley plays on the jukebox and the server Brandon becomes flirtatious and it just seems right, somehow, eating enough carbohydrates to fuel a small country.
So that is why you will find me teetotalling this month.