For the entire month of January, Mister and I were on restriction. We didn’t eat meat (we did eat fish) and we didn’t drink alcohol. None. Zero point zero percent.

 

Our plan had been to break the fast on Superbowl Sunday. We knew we’d have a feast that day – pork ribs, chicken wings, sausage-stuffed mushrooms – and beer. But when a friend called and invited us to dinner the night before, we decided to bend. And so we broke the fast a day early. And I couldn’t be happier.

 

I’m a light-weight when it comes to drinking. I’m not a light weight, mind you, but for some reason my body just gets super-smiley after only a drink or two. I like that about me. Anyhoo, I expected to be double-susceptible to the effects of alcohol after a month away from the stuff. But you know what happened? I didn’t get drunk. Not even a little bit. Go figure.

 

I did get sleepy though. I mean, it was as if I’d gotten some old-person condition in one month. I could barely keep my eyes open, yo!

 

But I persevered, and had another glass of wine. And then on Superbowl Sunday, I had my share of beer. And I loved each and every drop.

 

And then I immediately fell asleep.

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