Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Dear Merlot,

I love you. I hate you. I love you.

You and I have been in a serious relationship for some time, but I am afraid I need to move on. I need to start seeing other drinks.

It hurts to admit it, believe me. I can feel my liver regenerating and squeezing little sadness-pellets into my bloodstream. Where is my Wine-esta? It screams. Give me my Wine-Zac!

Frankly, it brings me no shame to admit that while most Americans rely on pharmaceuticals to help them with their depression and anxiety or to sleep at night, I have relied entirely on you. Life without you is hard to imagine.

When all the other 20-somethings were experimenting with drugs and beer bongs and severe states of wasted-ness that required near-hospitalization, I was sitting contentedly in my dorm or my apartment or my shared beach house, knitting or reading or chatting with a friend – and you were always right there by my side. We were a perfect pair – well, a threesome really, if you count our late night booty call Parliament lights. You always kept me grounded.

I was sorry to have to let you go during my pregnancies, but I honestly did enjoy an occasional tryst with you on a Friday night or two. It seemed very French. Very Parisian, didn’t it? Sneaking around like that, away from prying eyes? Even my doctor agreed that it was good, if not acceptable, for us to continue to see each other in small doses.

But lately I have noticed that perhaps you – with all your empty calories – serve no real purpose in my life, except to add to my already lovely curves. I think I will prefer my curves without the added padding. Yes. I really do.

Perhaps we shall still see each other from time to time, just as friends. Maybe on an occasional Saturday night, we can have a long and quiet chat on the outside patio with friends. I know my family will demand you come along to every family gathering, and it might be best to let them think we’re still together and that nothing has soured between us. And maybe, just maybe, you can spin me around the dance floor at a wedding sometime.

But as far as this daily madness of us connecting, it is beginning to feel like I am just seeing you because I don't know how it feels not to. And so, I will leave you with this: forever and always, I want you to know that the times we have shared will always hold a special place in my liver.

Fondly,
Me

p.s. Tell your friends Vodka and Champagne that I am not the whore they think I am. I need some space from all of you.