a word about consumption

It seems, as of late, that booze is the new crack. Ransacked and villified from the pages of Vogue to the hallowed walls of Harvard Vanguard, alcohol is a real problem, “binge drinking” is on the rise, and WE ARE ALL SCREWED. For me, it all started with the look on my doctor’s face when I informed her that I drink every night.

she: EVERY NIGHT!?!?! (insert countenance of absolute horror)
me: yeah.
she: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HOW MANY??
me: like, maybe, two…
she: (falls over dead from shock)

In the midst of the studies that decry cocktails as calorie-dense, beer as carb-heavy, and red wine as the silver lining, who knows what to think (or, more appropriately, what to drink)? Recent studies cite that an appropriate amount of alcohol for women is 7 drinks/week (14 for men) and that any more than four drinks in one sitting constitutes a “binge”. But what constitutes a “sitting”? If I have, say, 2 drinks with breakfast and 2 drinks at lunch and another 3 with dinner, then technically I have not binged. But I have reached my weekly limit. Conversely, If I save all my drinks for one night, and have seven drinks, say, every Thursday at trivia, then i am a chronic binge drinker.

Now! what the hell does all this have to do with reality? I was raised in a house where I never saw either parent drunk, but I did see both parents consume several drinks every night, beginning as they prepared dinner and ending as they turned off the ten o clock news. According to these new standard, I am the child of two raging alcoholics and you know, I just don’t buy it.

Basically, I think that all this crap is… well, crap. As if I don’t have enough to worry about what with the birth control and the cigarettes, the calorie and water intake management, the 50-hour workweek and the nagging feeling that I should definitely try get back to the gym, now according to the new findings what I really ought to do is STOP EVERYTHING and check into Betty Ford. Dammit, I say we’re all gonna die anyway, and if I have to drink all that fucking water every day and count calories and carbs and take the stairs instead of the elevator, then when I get home i’ll enjoy as many cocktails as I please.

Hey, at least it’s not crack.

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