I don’t drink alcohol. I’ve tried beer, wine. Just never developed a taste for it. I really wish I could enjoy a glass of wine but I just don’t like the taste. Chocolate milk and sweet ice tea are different matters altogether. “Taste development” for those yummy beverages were immediate.
But in spite of my teetotaler status, I have been drunk. Just once.
It was the summer of 1999. Diana and I were at a going-away party for one of my physician friends. We were stationed at Aviano Air Base in northern Italy and my friend was transferring back to the States. It was a hot July afternoon and Diana and I were seated at an outside restaurant table. The local American Baptist minister and his wife sat down at our table. She sat next to Diana and the pastor sat next to me. The wait staff brought out large mason jars of pineapple juice. We were hot and thirsty. The pastor and I had a jar of juice, and then another, and another.
Watching this all transpire, Diana leaned over to the pastor’s wife and asked, “Do they realize the pineapple juice is spiked with vodka?”
“I know my husband doesn’t know,” replied the pastor’s wife.
“Shouldn’t we tell them?” implored Diana.
“Oh, no, no, no, no!” chuckled the pastor’s wife. “I’ve been waiting to see this for years!”
So Diana and the pastor’s wife sat back, drinking their bottled water, and watched the two of us knock back 3 or 4 big jars of delicious pineapple juice. It wasn’t until my third jar that a warm wave overtook me that was distinctly different from the heat of the Italian sun. This was followed by a big boozy belch. I knew I was hammered. The hangover the next day was terrible.
So, there you have it. I’ve been drunk once and I had the pleasure of getting drunk with a Baptist preacher.
Now that has to be a singularly unique accomplishment.
Dash Stories 