So, I made a bet. A stupid, f***ing bet. On Saturday night, I bet a friend of my husband's that I could go two weeks (two weeks!!!) without having an alcoholic beverage. It didn't seem like any big deal at the time I was making the bet--I have two children, after all--and I never drank when I was pregnant. I did make the bet after enjoying a few glasses of wine so my judgement might have been slightly impaired. The bottom line is this: I can not drink until 7PM on February 16th. Pray for me, Readers.
All I can think about is
Booze. Pretty bottles, entertaining spirits, the
Clink--ice dropped into a heavy, crystal glass.
Disappointed? Don't I know it.
Everyone seems to think that I
Flirt too much with Chardonnay,
Grey Goose and Guinness.
Heavenly, the variety
I'm normally able to choose from
Jumping up and down--a
Kid in a candy store or
Like a woman at Neiman Marcus. This
Myriad of mixes tempts
Not only me, but myself and I.
Often, my
Palate and my determination will
Quarrel. Quit it, my
Resolve
Says
To my palate
Understand this, my discipline keeps talking,
Vino isn't a necessity
Why won't willpower shut up, I wonder? I wish I lived in
Xanadu, where both
You and I know that
Zealotry is outlawed.
This is an example of an abecedarian poem. I would explain, but I think you probably get the gist. Plus, I'm too sober.