What are the signs of a drinking problem…

There you are happily drinking your wine on a Friday night.  You pour the last glass, so you throw the box into the kitchen bin.

Yes, I do realise how trailer-park that sounds.

I am not going to start defending myself because I drink wine from a box, as really there is no defense other than it stores nicely and decants easily.

Kennith also bought the box for me, so it is very special and dear to my heart. Combined with the fact that I also have rather low standard when it comes to wine.

So I just finished the glass … as you do … it always come as a surprise as you reach for your glass, throw it back and realise it is empty … it is always a shock to me.

I thought to myself … I wonder if there is a new bottle in the fridge …then I thought, I did not actually squeeze the bag out … I just assumed it was empty and tossed it.

Parked my dignity.

Walked down to the kitchen.

Retrieved the box from bin.

Cut open cardboard, took out silver bag, gave it a good squeeze and for all my effort got about 12ml of wine and a “poof” of air… it really is a sad day over in my neck of the woods.

Sidebar:  I did google alcohol abusers versus alcoholics earlier this week.  I got really excited when I realised that I do not really match the traits of an alcohol abuser.  But then a bit depressed when I realised I matched a few too many of the traits of an alcoholic …. yikes …. still does not solve my box problem though ….

Wordless Friday …. doesn’t have as good a ring does it?

I am not one for just posting just an image as a blog post – but I got this image this morning from my friend Robby and I just thought, dang, I wish I had thought of that.

I must dig up a picture I have of Connor (this is not him above in case you are wondering) and he is sleeping on a table as new born babies do.  I am sitting there smiling all motherly into the camera.  When you look at the photo you realise we are in a pub and there are masses of cans and bottles all around him and there he is fast asleep amongst all of this and on a slightly less than sanitary table.

Not quite material for the “best mother” award, but there we go.