I’ve been operating under the impression that my husband is an alcoholic. And since there’s a gigantic negative association with the word “alcoholic,” I feel the need to first explain just how responsible my husband is.
He wakes up every day at seven a.m. Weekends, too. It’s disgusting. He is supposed to be at work by eight, but arrives early every morning. (I make up for this by being five minutes late.) He makes sure all of our bills are paid on time and, even though he keeps meticulous track of our finances, if asked he can recite all of the figures from memory.
He arrives home from work at six-fifteen each evening. He changes out of his suit, retrieves the mail, feeds the cats (because I always forget), and takes out the trash. He tidies up the apartment if I’ve been lazy, then finally sits down in front of the television, fires up his laptop, and watches sports while I fix something to eat.
And he has a couple of beers. (He’s a Coors Light guy. Don’t fight it.)
He doesn’t leave the house, would never drink and drive. And while he might become, if anything, nicer, there is zero change in his personality. He doesn’t gamble, doesn’t make any impulsive decisions. Just sits and watches sports and drinks beer. And, at ten o’clock sharp, he forces me to bed where we watch reruns of Seinfeld. (That’s right. Seinfeld. Don’t fight it.)
And the next day, he does it all over again.
I only became aware of the pattern three years ago. That was the first time we both shared the same schedule. I worried. My parents were/are alcoholics and it certainly wasn’t an easy environment to grow up in. I honestly didn’t know if I had the strength to stay in a relationship that presented the same problem.
But now I have reason to believe I may have been wrong all this time. The Husband had a root canal several weeks ago. The antibiotics prescribed to fight infection caused other health issues for which he was put on more antibiotics last Monday. Antibiotics that the doctor strictly informed him he could mix with alcohol.
No alcohol for ten. whole. days.
I admit it. I was damn curious to see how he’d do. I believed it would be very telling of just how dependent he may have become. And you know something?
Nothing. No change in personality or behavior or disposition. No shaking or twitching or anything even remotely close to what I learned from E.R. He is the exact same man that’s been irritating me for the last eight years.
Just without a Coors Light nearby.
(In writing this post, I did some reading. Maybe if I had looked there first, I would have spent a lot less time worrying.)