Thirsty Tuesdays

One evening a couple of weeks ago I arrived at a momentous conclusion: I decided to give up alcohol.

I haven’t been a drinker for very long. Only in the last couple years did I find myself in the classification of “social drinker.” This was long after I turned 21, the legal drinking age. Never have I had a drink alone; there’s a camaraderie that exists among a group of friends at a bar. Drinkers are social extroverts; everything becomes more interesting. You become the life of the party when you’re otherwise a quiet wallflower the rest of the day.

Smokers enjoy a similar communal experience. Outside most office buildings you’ll find them huddled together, sharing secrets and trading gossip. You don’t know each other very well inside, but outside you’re best buddies. You exist in a world that is almost permanently overcast with the fog of cigarette smoke.

Drinking made me relax following an exceptionally difficult time in my life, and I had great times. But ultimately I’ve never really enjoyed it. In the time it takes some people to polish off a six-pack, I’m still nursing my first beer. I’m a slow drinker.

Friendship isn’t about enjoying a drink. It’s about being there when you’re on the bottom. Mine were there for me in my darkest hour; they’ll be around whenever I’m feeling particularly down.

Except now, I’ll be coyly sipping coffee while they are loudly celebrating elsewhere.