dry

three whole days without vodka. this is what it feels like when your girlfriend suddenly opts for celibacy, leaving you to lie in bed alone. and then, when you least expect it, the deluge. isn’t life shockingly terrific every once in a while?

so, the plan: wedding reception tonight. a whole truckload of old friends and their husbands and wives to catch up with. a late-night drink, perhaps. tomorrow: four people to meet up with at a noisy pub. it’s supposed to be work-related, but who’re they kidding? friday: dinner at olive, the over-priced, over-hyped haunt of the young and the decadent. not that fitting in anywhere is ever a problem after a half bottle of vodka and a dash of lime. saturday: a conscious attempt to avoid using the word ‘vodka’ more than twice. this one is doomed from the start.