I dumped a bottle of booze down the drain today.
It was a liberating experience.
One, because it was a nasty ass bottle of Mezcal with a bloated grub worm floating at the bottom. Years ago, my mother handed over this half bottle of disgustingness. Her excuse: to help “stock our new bar”. I cut my mother and her toxicity out of my life over three and a half years ago, but some of her remnants still remain. Today, I was literally able to pour another memory of my narcissistic mother down the drain. Score!
Two, because, hello?! I was dumping alcohol down the drain! Something that has had such control over me for so long, I was pouring out of my life, never to return. Okay, so Mezcal with a worm hadn’t been all that tempting. Obviously. It sat on our shelf for over six years without being touched. Still. Baby steps, right?
It all felt very ritualistic. My kids had joined me at the bar and were chanting, “Mama, Mama” urging me on. I held my breath and tried not to gag as the worm flopped in the sink and the last of the Mezcal swirled down the drain. My kids let out a cheer, “hooray!”
I grabbed a paper towel, snagged the worm out of the sink, and threw it in the trash with a triumphant smile. My daughter high-fived me, the kids cheered again. The noise and commotion must have worried my husband, who dashed into the room. “What are you doing,” he demanded.
“Do another,” the kids proclaimed. It’s safe to say, in my household I am the ringmaster. This is my circus. If my monkeys are enjoying my show, my husband can stand on his head in the corner while juggling flaming bowling pins and they won’t pay him one bit of attention.
My kids have been 100% behind me in my journey. My son, my Jameson (ironically), has been the most supportive, non-judgmental one of the bunch. He has learned the difference between NA and real, and is quick to jump up and get me a sparkling water if he sees the tell-tale signs of “mama ’bout to lose her shit and wants a glass of wine”. God love him.
I reached for the bottle of Larceny. My husband squealed and started flailing his arms.
“Noooooo,” he screamed. (You would have thought that I was setting his prized project car on fire.) “Don’t dump it out. That’s money you are pouring down the drain. We’ll give it to someone.”
Money? My husband is all of a sudden concerned about money? I don’t think so.
“Marty, are you seriously going to give this away to one of your friends?” I held Larceny Bourbon to show a mere half a shot of liquid left the bottle.
“What about Alaina?”
“I am not pawning alcohol off on our daughter.”
Martin was reaching. “What if we become vampires and we need something to keep our urges in check?”
Seriously? Did my husband just try and justify keeping a half a shot of Bourbon as a nod to The Vampire Diaries?!
I put the bottle back on the shelf. While I have come to terms with the finality of never drinking again and the need to remove the poison from my house, my husband has not.
I can wait. I mean, that Mezcal sat on the shelf for over six years. I have been tackling sobriety for over a year. Every bottle of alcohol lining the shelves has gone primarily untouched during this time. What’s a little while longer?
If all else fails, I know a certain young man that would be more than happy to take on a covert operation to dump a few bottles, all in the name of his Mama’s Sobriety. 😉