Despite what some of my friends–those who haven’t gone out with me lately or don’t know about the diet–think, I am not pregnant. Just because I have put drinking on pause, that doesn’t mean there’s a tiny person growing inside me. For the time being, I am holding off on the alcohol for several reasons: partially the dieting and the calories, partially to settle an angry stomach that isn’t particularly used to this food regiment.
To begin with, I was never much of a drinker. Whether they call it the chug or the gulp, my friends are familiar with my patented booze move: consume none of my alcoholic beverage during dinner, then drink all of it down right before we’re heading out of the restaurant. Sometimes, I’m so fast, they don’t even realize how the glass was miraculously drained. The cause for such ludicrous behavior? I am not one to mix food and alcohol. It doesn’t please me.
I do not dispute that a glass of red wine most days, or even every day, is good for your health. It’s good for my health, too, but I don’t like to drink it all that much. I have always been more partial to things like mojitos or extra dirty martinis (yes, probably made with vodka because I am a mere fraction of a man) or something with an umbrella in it. So it has not been a hard transition to give up drinking almost entirely. Plus, at this point even a thimbleful of booze would probably land me right on my butt.
No one asked for an explanation as to why wine or vodka never makes an appearance in the Food Journal, but I thought I’d share anyway. Perhaps it was on my mind because a former coworker recently asked if my drinking abstention was pregnancy-related (pretty sure she was pulling my leg on that one) and also because I’m cooking dinner tonight, with wine as an accompaniment. As unrelated to pregnancy as anything could possibly be, I will say this in closing: If I can keep my dried apricots and peanut butter, I am pleased as pie to sacrifice booze to the dieting gods.