Lee was a rock ’em-sock ’em rhinestone cowboy. He was bold, brash and outgoing.
On our second date, there was no doubt about it, this guy was a big-time drinker. His drink du jour was a Moscow Mule and he consumed several in a very short period of time.
“Keep them coming, honey” was his advice to the cocktail waitress.
Given my background dealing with alcoholics, I gently slipped away -indicating I had spent way too much time with people who drink too much. Next.
Flash forward three years, and I run into my old friend, Lee. He was exuberant and thrilled to see me. He announced he had turned his life around and wanted to see me again.
He was very proud of himself- he said he had cutback his drinking dramatically.
I agreed to have dinner at his house Saturday night. When I arrived, he was opening a large box on the kitchen counter. It contained two glasses. Glasses? Heck, they were really big goblets. No, the glasses were actually the size of small fishbowls.
He proudly explained that his doctor advised to cut back on his extensive cocktail hour and relegated him to one glass of wine, nightly.
Lee confided in me that he didn’t have a problem – just a challenge.
Let’s just say that we had “The Last Supper.” I carefully walked down the 12 steps from his condo to the garage, letting go and moving on.