Sobering Moment

When I tell people I'm not drinking this month, that I've temporarily given it up, I'm asked one of two questions. 1: "Did you join AA or something?" 2: "Are you pregnant?!" And frankly, I'm more flustered by the latter question and instantly find myself saying, "Oh God no, I'm not pregnant!" while sucking in my stomach. Even scarier than people scanning my midsection for a telltale bump is the idea that either way, alcoholic or preggers, the assumption is I've lost control of my own body.

My husband's friends quit smoking and drinking each January, ushering in a sober new year. And this December, for whatever reason, the notion seemed genius to me! I too was going to go wine and martini free! Tired of waking up hung over after four cocktails the night before, realizing my tolerance has plummeted to a new low, I knew this would be an interesting endeavor.

On New Year's Eve I watched what I drank-- I watched it go right down my throat. I stuck to champagne and I sipped water whenever I felt my blood alcohol level tip uncomfortably toward drunk. It seemed like I was doing alright... until I accosted the MTA teller when I couldn't hear him through the glass window and dramatically tossed each of my used Metrocards into the sky, one by one, as I yelled my discontents through the corridors of the subway. My husband stood on the other side of the turnstile, embarrassed, waiting for my ticker tape parade of flying Metrocards to end. The new year couldn't come fast enough.

Yes, I was ashamed of my behavior and awoke to the new year ready for strong coffee and a fresh start. But do one's actions on the most debauchery laden night of the year constitute a problem with alcohol? Doesn't everyone go all out, complete with hats, champagne, and noisemakers, waking up the next morning vowing never to drink again? Well, I'm pretty sure a lot of people do. But telling my friends and family, very casually at that, about my drinking ban has revealed the uncomfortable sting of a stigma. It's awkward for me to say I'm not drinking right now, especially when people say, "Oh, I don't drink enough to have to quit it. That wouldn't really be something I would have to do." Let me decode that for you: You obviously drink a lot more than me, so much so that you really need to dry out, but since I am an infrequent, one-beer-on-Friday drinker, I am better and more responsible than you. OK, that might not be what people mean, but that's how I take their personal justifications. I drink enough where this week there were three social engagements during which I could have had a glass of wine, and where those in my company did have a glass (or two), and that is three moments I have ordered a diet coke instead. I'm not exactly sure why I am on this sober bender, but here I am. Teetotaler. And even though I am counting down the days until February 1, and I'm not sure what I'm trying to prove to myself, I do know my smugness is on the rise-- a side effect of restraint. Out with one vice, in with another. Isn't that the truth?!