Why I Don’t Drink
The place I ate lunch at yesterday here in Brussels had a gorgeous display of alcohol bottles rising 14 feet on cherry wood shelves. The bottles were lit from above and below and within each shelf. I spent the entire lunch staring at them.
I always loved the traditions of different bottle shapes and label styles. Whisky, vodka, brandy, scotch… There’s nothing stopping them from putting Jim Beam in Apple Juice bottles—it would be the exact same drink—but they never will. When I pass them in the supermarket aisles, I feel like I’m in a museum, or even a church. I imagine how much more I’d appreciate them if my body had developed a chemical dependency on their effects; how the experience of drinking would flash through my head at the mere sight of each one.
I’ve always suspected that I’d really like drinking if I ever got started. So I never have.
The restaurant accidentally charged me 13,000 dollars for lunch, instead of 13 dollars. They fixed the mistake, but last night I had to call long distance to my bank in the U.S. to get a hold on my card lifted after they thought it had been stolen. I’m taking it as a warning.
Fun fact: Scott also loves the smell of cigarettes and the charming clatter of roulette wheels.
The taste for wine does not necessarely take you into excess. I got to start discovering all the new taste of wine in my forties so its never to late to drink with some restraint 🙂
I’ve considered it. Maybe when I’m safely through our child-rearing years.
It’s certainly not a solemn vow or anything. I might even make a point of doing all of them when I’m eighty or something, just for fun.
My husband says exactly the same thing about alcohol, drinking, and the bottles. In fact, he mentioned it again this morning at which point I made him come read what you said. He felt the same way about coffee as well–and is now a die hard coffee snob. 🙂
The problem with waiting until your 80…you won’t be able to savor the flavors as much because human taste buds go the way of the dodo bird as we age.