So, I’ve had a brief period of trying to drink alcohol in moderation which has and hasn’t been successful. During the week has been easy and so too having a few dry days – yay! go me.
Last night Chief and I attended a black-tie gala dinner. We were greeted by waiters offering trays of drinks and we just had time for one before we were ushered into the ballroom to our table. On our round table for twelve people were bottles of red and white wine. I had just pulled my chair in when our friendly waiter topped up my champagne glass, moved the ice-bucket right in front of my place setting, placed the bottle of bubbles into it and said that he’d leave that with me. Why did he do that? Was it some sort of test bestowed upon me by my fellow dinner guests? Of course I offered it around the table but everyone was onto the red or white. I wish I’d had the guts to ask him to move the ice bucket – “could you please move the ice-bucket out of temptation’s way?” Maybe I had that look about me – of someone in need. Throughout the evening the wine freely flowed and a jolly good time was had by all.
When the formalities were over, and the band had finished their set, our fellow guests all departed to relieve baby-sitters and the like and Chief suggested we head to a little cocktail bar just around the corner for a night-cap. Great! I thought – the night is still young. Actually it was gone eleven and the tiny bar whose business is at full tilt early evening, was deserted. We sat at the bar and it was at that moment that I realised that I was done – time for home. Chief ordered something rum based for himself and I heard myself asking for something gin based. The skilled mixologist (the bartender dude) created something special – it had a pale pink crema on the top and the glass was decorated with two fresh raspberries on a little bamboo stick. I think it was something like a gin/Shiraz cocktail and it was going to be the death of me – you see, you never quite know where you stand with a cocktail do you?
This morning when my foggy mind came to, I realised that maybe my problem is that I have a fear of missing out (FOMO) and that’s why it’s so hard for me to simply say no. Why is that? It’s never bothered me before now. Is it insecurities bubbling to the surface? Who cares anyway; people are so self-absorbed these days to notice. No one’s going to point their finger at me and yell at me “you’re missing out aren’t you?”
I’m snapping out of it – it’s time to stop wallowing. What about you – what’s been your FOMO moment?
Waking the Wombat 