A fictionalized comic essay about one person’s social circle, not medical advice.
I stopped drinking because I disliked how I felt the next day. My wife knew. Most of our friends did not, largely because I did not feel my choice of beverage needed a formal launch.
At first, being openly sober appeared to make people anxious on my behalf. Was I enjoying myself? Was something wrong? Had I become serious? Apparently, holding a glass of water suggested I might begin discussing pension arrangements at any moment.
Then I ordered soda with lime in the sort of glass normally associated with alcohol. I laughed, danced badly, and participated in conversations with my usual degree of questionable confidence.
Nobody seemed concerned. Someone told me I was on excellent form.
This was amusing. It was not a controlled experiment proving what all drinkers think, but it did reveal how much my own small circle read into a glass. The person holding it had changed considerably less than their expectations.
More than a year passed without alcohol. I did not spend that year pretending to be drunk. I simply stopped letting the contents of my drink introduce me before I had spoken.
My wife found the entire situation funny. She had witnessed enough of my dancing to know it required no chemical assistance, only an unfortunate willingness to continue.
If someone asks now, I tell them. I am not drinking. I am still available for dinner, jokes, and conversations that go on too long.
The lime remains optional, although it has proved a remarkably effective public-relations representative.
