RB: No Self-Control

When it comes to wine—well, pretty much any alcohol—I have no self-control.

First Glass

First glass of the night.

Last Wednesday, I was on the couch, my TV cued to a re-run of Outlander, an empty wine glass in my hand. My cheeks were flushed and hot enough to warm my hands when it’s -3° out. I was mouth breathing because my nose was stuffed. And every few minutes, I was scratching my chest like fleas had burrowed underneath my skin.


I’m allergic to wine, but did that stop me?


I was like, screw you wine. I’ll drink you if I want ‘cause that’s how I roll.

Second glass of the night.

Second glass of the night.

It had been a trying day. Just imagine the type of nightmares demons have…


That was my day.

Third glass of the night.

Third glass of the night.

Due to said allergies, I normally only allow myself to drink on Saturday. (Not only does wine give me everything but hives, it also disturbs my sleep.)

But I needed a drink that day. So, I chose a small glass. And told myself sternly, “You will only drink this one glass.”

I listened so well…in the beginning.

I savored each sip.

Take a sip. Pause. Sip. Pause. Sip. Pause. Sip. Pau—

As soon as the ice cube hit my lip after the last sip, (Yes. I like ice with my wine. Yes, I realize I have no hope in becoming a wine connoisseur.) I refilled my glass.



Fourth glass of the night.

Fourth glass of the night.


Fast forward two hours, four re-fills, and a half package of Oreos later my nose was beyond stuffy and my entire face and chest was on fire.

But I didn’t care. Because I had four glasses of wine. Everything was just a-okay in my book.

Until I woke up the next morning…

At o-dark thirty…

To get ready for work…


wine post pic

2 thoughts on “RB: No Self-Control

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