Teetotaler gods

I am thoroughly convinced that I can no longer consume alcohol of any kind or in any amount.

I’m a fan of the dirty martini; very dirty, thanks, with three olives. I suppose someone should just call it Olive Vodka With a Whiff of Vermouth or something because that’s how I like it. To be precise, my preference runs toward the big fat olives stuffed with a pimento – not a big fan of garlic or almond or hot pepper stuffarifficness. It’s just who I am. I will test the occasional sweetened up “..tini”; i.e.; Apple-tinis, Chocla-tini, Cran-tini and the like, but only as a varietal of the genre, not as a steady diet. On a hot evening I do like a cold Cosmopolitan. But basically, I’m a simple, salty girl.

Beer = Shiner Bock, Wine = Beringer Chardonnay, Shots = Tequila

I am not a big drinker. I was always worried, due to some pretty significant boozified DNA, that I would have a problem with alcohol so I spent most of my formative years avoiding it. After my husband left in 2000, I decided that I could indulge if I wanted to…and I wanted to. I lived with White Zinfandel for a while – to my friend Ken’s elitist oenephilic horror – whored around with Woo-Woo for a little bit and have now settled into my current surroundings with Olive Vodka With a Whiff of Vermouth. But no, I am not a big drinker. One or two drinks once or twice a week is way plenty.

However, Father Time pummeled, I having recently surrendered to the Bifocal gods. I’m worried that other little demons are sneaking in, taking up residence and soon to deprive me of any pleasure. I refuse to think about it.

My last two Tini-Episodes were uncomfortable. Each time - one martini – just one – and both times I woke up at 3am with a splitting hangover headache intending to drill a hole in my temple to let the bad out. Nausea. Fatigue. Unladylike stomach activity. I wanted to die.

Third time’s the charm. I went to Guest Blogger’s house last night for dinner. Convinced that someone was trying to poison me, I eschewed the martini and went with the lovely J. Lohr merlot (I think it was merlot…let’s just say “red”) that was trotted out. I drank what constitutes 2 glasses of wine. A pleasant evening of conversation and laughter…it was lovely.

Today, headache and fatigue. Tummy is off the bubble. God and my body are telling me to stop drinking. Now. And completely.

It took me 2 years to bend over for the bifocal gods. The teetotaler gods can wait too.