You may (or may not actually) be aware that Hubby and I aren’t drinkers, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we are totally tee-total.
I can still remember falling off my bar stool in Amsterdam after two (honest!) small beers, and when Hubby’s holdall with his medication in it went on holiday without him in Dublin, Guinness and paracetamol make a great numbing potion (from the neck down).
But one of our first Christmases together saw us apart at different functions.
Hubby was working for a computer company and his firm’s do happened to fall on the same night as mine with the bank.
His was a meal out in a pub, then back to the office social room/bar for nibbles, music and mucho vino.
Mine was the dinner dance at the posh hotel with taxis provided home.
We decided to compromise and I would get a taxi from my venue to his firm, and then drive our car home.
I had a really good night with my work colleagues and left the hotel just before 1am.
The disco was in full blaring swing, and I could hear George Michael whammin’ his Last Christmas as the taxi pulled away from the kerb.
I got to Hubby’s works about ten minutes later, and George was still singing about his someone special when I walked in.
People who have had too much to drink make me wary and nervous, even more so having lived with an in-denial-alcoholic for 8 years.
I had never seen Hubby drunk.
In fact, I had never seen him with a pint glass, full or otherwise, so to find him as I did was a bit unnerving.
He was sitting by himself but not exactly alone.
He looked very happy and smiled at everyone.
He was also very quiet.
I think these sum it up more than anything I can say to describe it.