Both my dad's parents were functional alcoholics. I have only rare memories of my grandmother without a beer in her hand. She was a lovely, loving, and fierce woman, and she was seldom completely sober. Grandpa used to go to work on the railroad with several healthy slugs of whiskey poured into his thermos of coffee.

After he retired, he switched to beer in front of the TV as he watched his beloved Cincinnati Reds.

They had nine children, seven of whom lived past infancy. Only one of them became a drinker, and she's gone now.

In my youth, I wondered if I had inherited some sort of gene for alcoholism or if I just liked to drink and have fun sometimes. I think the answer is the latter, because even though I could share a few stories like yours here, drinking never became a habit with me. Sometimes I liked to party and have a very good time, and sometimes that meant I would drink too much.

Like you, my body really can't handle it. I get quite ill, and my hangovers could be epic.

Unlike you, I guess I really don't enjoy drinking anymore. Oh, I like to have a nice glass of wine, and I like a bit of good whiskey now and then. I had plenty of both in stock for the holidays, and I didn't drink more than a nip the entire season. Just a touch of whiskey in my eggnog, and a glass or two of wine with dinner.

I don't know, the appeal isn't there anymore. Or maybe it's the fear of the consequences of overdoing it?

I feel like I should be glad of that, but I'm sort of not. Sure it's wise and responsible to stay sober all the time. But when did I get so ... Cranky? Stuffy? Stick in the mud? Boring? ... that I don't even want to cut loose anymore?

Anyway, those are the thoughts your excellent story raised in my mind as I read.

Thank you for sharing that!