News! The bet. The abstention. The self-imposed three month dry spell.
My colleague/bet-partner fell off the wagon this week! The admission came mid-week, mid-morning. Ah, he must’ve spent the first few hours of Wednesday morning deciding whether or not to tell me. Of maybe he was just busy. But confess he did.
“How did it taste?” was my first question.
“Bloody fantastic,” was the unequivocal reply. A wide grin to punctuate.
I’m still dry, in case you were wondering. I don’t get to keep the 500 unless I get to the end of March. So, I have about five weeks and a day to go. Not that I’m counting.
On 1 April or thereafter, I’m going to crack open one of these babies. Since Wednesday, I’ve been eyeing them up somewhat more enthusiastically every time I open the fridge, but that’s all. My eyes have been thirsty.