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bender, interrupted.
I am currently in the sixth week of a twelve week prescription medication that is supposed to, er, clear up a certain issue I feel certain you’d rather I not discuss. Monday, at my check-up, I told my doctor that I was getting married in three weeks. He responded, “Married? So, you’ll be on a honeymoon… you should stop taking the medication if you are going to drink.”
If. You. Are. Going. To. Drink.
Oh, people, there are no “ifs” when it comes to me and rosé. Also, dry whites. Chianti, too. While we’re at it, I have a thing for Baileys, with coffee, as dessert, and in lieu of milk in my cereal. And well, Mr. Basil Hayden and I, we’re walking down the aisle together.
In fact, the only thing separating me from the folks with the “hi, my name is” tags is that they go to meetings. Also, they don’t get to swig breakfast vodka (hey, who’s that guy flirting in the comments? My boyfriend is going to like totally kick your butt.).
Then there’s the small matter of timing: I’m in the sixth week of a medication in which I was apparently, supposed to detach my maw from the bourbon bottle. Six weeks in which I was supposed to have been using other vices to self-medicate. Six weeks in which Alex and I have taken to have a glass of wine with dinner each night, clinging to the evaporating notion that this is supposed to be a festive, relaxed time for us.
I suppose I had this coming, joking all these years that I want a new liver for my thirtieth birthday. And I could be cloyingly earnest, saying things like – maybe this is for the best! Maybe I’ll better be able to handle the pressure when I don’t drown my fears in Sancerre! Maybe I’ll even lose those last seven pounds! Sleep better! Enhance the tone of my skin, brighten my fatigued eyes! Have eight less cheap tequila hangovers in Mexico! Stop the forming gin blossoms in their tracks! Learn how to write sober!
But, today is Alex’s birthday and I am about as utterly incapable of saying no to one of Tabla’s Pomegrate Gimlets as I am to our alarm clock's snooze feature. Or, at least I thought I was until last night, when guilt overcame me after three sips of wine. It just… wasn’t good enough to be worth it. Alex diagnosed that I might have come down with Sobriety. But I hypothesized something far more disastrous: I think I might have come down with Adulthood.
comments (7)
Adulthood. Really? What's it like?
1 | Wicked H | August 10, 2005 05:37 PM
!!!
You need to fire that doctor at once for not telling you about the drinking when you were put on the medication in the first place. They can't possibly assume that people don't drink! Crazy! Man. I hope it's just a "bad idea" and not something that will nullify the medication or put you in serious danger.
2 | jenn | August 10, 2005 06:39 PM
Adulthood is just a phase. You'll grow out of it.
3 | Matt | August 10, 2005 07:45 PM
Come on... whatcha got?
4 | aliastaken | August 10, 2005 08:58 PM
Where are you getting married Deb? Where you going on honeymoon? You going on honeymoon for bank holiday? Why August 28? Can anyone come to wedding?
5 | anna | August 11, 2005 06:55 AM
Didn't the pharmacy tell you (or give you info on paper) about mixing alcohol with the meds? I wouldn't fire the doctor, I'd find a new pharmacist.
6 | Tammi | August 11, 2005 08:23 AM
opps
7 | Master Foley | August 11, 2005 09:49 AM