Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Left HIGH and dry
I am on an imposed break from the spirited side of life. Apart from the sad attempt at making a pun, that basically means that, courtesy the bout of jaundice which had me in Calcutta for a week, I am now supposed to stay away from all manner of booze, wine, liquor, spirits, bubbly, and the other stuff that burns your throats and propells me on to the dance floor.
My life is dry. Hmmm... food for thought.
So, the other day, we were all at the Sports Bar, and while the pitchers of beers and the tall glasses of martinis and the short dwarf vodka shots were being merrily passed around the table, I made do with my silver-blue-red can of Red Bull. Ginseng, I hope, is still permitted. If not, then I have no hopes for living high at a party ever again.
(To all who may be interested, Red Bull tastes amazingly like the liver medicine I'm supposed to be ingesting twice daily, two spoonfulls each time. It also tastes a mite like cough syrup. So if you're the kind who had a crush on your doctor, because he gave you your first taste of alcohol when you were two, then Red Bull is very much YOUR drink. Advertorial over.)
My brother gives a sinister chuckle and says that I should stay off the bubbly for a year. My mum, to whom I recently came 'out' about my watering hole ways, would rather I never touch the stuff. And my naive doctor thinks I never have any need for anything other than the cough syrup, and so did not even jot down a time limit for me.
Methinks, two months should be enough, say what? (Or perhaps, a month?) Pretty please.
Mirror Mirror #19: They called me the Chemical Brother in Chennai, because of the size and versatility of my private medical box. That became my screen name on this blog. When I landed up with a new roomie in Delhi, I bowed my head and surrendered my title to him. And decided to become good ole livingHIGH.
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