I went out for the first time since I quit drinking. I had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other shoulder cartoon moment. I was arguing with myself as I sat at the bar. And yes, we sat at the bar because that’s where he sits. We can’t go to a restaurant and sit in a quiet booth and talk. We have to be at the bar where he can be in the middle of the action.
It’s so loud you practically have to yell at one another and the bartender has her boobs hanging so far out of her shirt that I felt like I should have charged her for a mammogram. He had three Guinness and a flight of tequilas and I was done. I was leaving. He followed and we get to the truck and he pulls a beer out of a cooler in the back and hops in the passenger seat and starts drinking. The first of three beers before we hit the driveway.
All the way home as he is drinking and he realizes I am serious about quitting, he starts giving me a lecture about how alcohol isn’t bad for you. He only does it in social situations and it’s only to be more fun and get people to laugh and smile. That he knows doesn’t have a problem. Welllllll… ya do.
By this time, I am mad. I’m really mad, because I know I have a problem and his is even worse. But I say nothing. It’s not his choice now. I have to do it with or without him.
11 glasses of seltzer water later… I did it. I want to cry. I didn’t think it was possible. Tomorrow is another day.