This piece is not typical of my blog — it was submitted as an entry at www.writersread.org

Out the window the sky looked like lead, and I thought we ought to hurry.  So we wrapped up the meeting, excused ourselves, and dashed down the street, sprinting from the shelter of one awning to the next, harried by wind and sheets of water.  At the restaurant, finally, we stripped off dripping coats, greeted colleagues, strolled past a display of fish sitting on banks of ice, flown in fresh from around the world, bright lights shining on open mouths and sightless eyes.

Once seated, the talk turned to business.  Someone ordered a bottle, and before I could wave a hand, the waiter filled my glass.

Five years ago, I noticed my consumption was increasing.  On sabbatical from corporate work, I had the luxury, for the first time in my life, of having a glass at lunch, as well as one at dinner.  Or two.  Though this question irked me — what was this more liberal attitude helping me to accomplish? – and also, whose idea had it been to authorize more drinking? (I didn’t remember making that decision myself).  To take a break from alcohol seemed like a sensible idea, but then my sister-in-law smiled and handed me a flute of champagne, because it was New Year’s Day.

So, it was with some caution now that I took a sip, and the sweet tart taste hit me hard – ripe grape clusters came to mind with waxy skin the color of a summer sunset – followed by the heavy punch of tannin that comes from years aged in toasted oaken barrels – and finally the crisp clean sensation of the alcohol itself.

The second sip tasted even better.  I scanned the menu and my eye fixed on ribeye, which pairs well with red wine, but the price startled me.  I could buy a similar piece of meat at the grocery for only 20% the cost.

Call me thrifty.  I’m conscious of my financial resources.  I’m conscious of my body, too, and the aging process.  For example, running 50 miles today feels like a major endeavor, whereas a few years back, I’d have thought nothing of it.  Since then I’ve surely become more sensitive to toxins, although I recognize that alcohol has benefits as well as costs.  Not only that clean crisp taste, but the fleeting sense of stillness.  Which I treasured.  Until one day I asked myself, why couldn’t I relax on my own?

The third sip of wine followed a forkful of garlic mashed potatoes.  The two tastes fought against each other, leaving a hint of acid on my tongue.

I read somewhere that the 13^th-century Mongol warlord Chinggis Khan admired people who abstained, although he acknowledged such individuals were rare.  If you must get drunk, he said, better to do so once per month instead of three times.  People interpret these comments as endorsing moderation.  Indeed, I read somewhere that red wine in moderation is good for you.  Ditto for caffeine, THC, NSAIDs, and SSRIs.  Meanwhile, pain, anxiety, and depression run rampant.  Just follow the science, they say.  But I was taught to follow the dollars.

My colleagues were carrying on enthusiastically, I suddenly became aware, while the space echoed with countless patrons’ chatter.  Heavy rain beat against the restaurant’s expansive glass façade and the darkened street beyond.  The exotic fish still kept their mute blind vigil, at least those which hadn’t yet been chosen for someone’s plate.  The remnants of my garlic mashed potatoes had grown cold.

I took a final sip of the expensive red wine which the waiter had poured into my glass even though I didn’t want it.  My body must have passed its own judgment, for the liquid felt oily and repulsive and no longer had any taste at all.