I Don’t Drink – A Very Dry Tale

Once upon a time there was a little girl who never in her whole life had had a drink. Well, she'd had a drink–she'd had a drink of water, and milk, and orange juice, and the occasional drink of diet coke–but she'd never imbibed anything with an alcohol content greater than that in vanilla extract. (She took her vanilla straight up, by the way.) 

The great thing about it was that this little girl never had to worry about doing and saying things she regretted later. Well, at least not things induced by blood-alcohol levels. She never had to ask anyone where she'd been the night before. And she never had any trouble behind the wheel. (Unless you count that one time when she'd just gotten her learner's permit and she creamed that one guy who'd decided to hang out in her blind spot.)

(Or if you count all the times she's had to go to traffic school owing to her car taking too much time to get her places.)

(Or that one time when a police officer took her license because she lost her head and argued with him about the *finger-quotes* incorrect turn *end finger-quotes* she supposedly made at an Indianapolis traffic light, but it was really because the person turning into her lane should have been turning into the lane next to her, and the [beeeeep] police officer (whose name she still remembers, though she's not bitter) based his pulling her over on the fact that she'd had to slam on her brakes to accomodate the other moron driver, so Mr. Policeman assumed she'd been at fault because she'd hit her breaks, and he got mad at her for disagreeing with him and took her license and then sent her on a wild goose chase downtown to get her license back from a judge, just because the policeman was old and irritable and clearly going through menopause.) (I'm sorry. What were you saying? Oh, was it me? Was I supposed to be saying something? Huh.) (Can you see why this little girl didn't NEED to drink alcohol? She can get squirrely all by herself.)

Anyway, some people might think an alcohol-free life was boring. Some people might ask "What the heck did you do for your twenty-first birthday?" And when they did, the little girl might smile and say, "Well, I hung out with friends and I can REMEMBER all of it." And she might feel all superior and stuff because she'd never let herself get to the point where she couldn't recall anything she did. And besides, she'd seen movies. Drunk people in movies act RIDICULOUS. The little girl would never act like that.

Then one day during an out of town convention, the little girl went with her co-workers to a local steakhouse. Very fine. Very expensive. No prices on the menu. At the end of the meal everyone ordered desserts, and the girl couldn't decide what to get. So one of her bosses very kindly offered to split a dessert with her. Oh how nice!

"What are you getting?" she asked.

"Bananas Foster," he replied.

Someone coughed and murmured something that sounded like "Alcohol!" 

And the boss said, "Aw, there's a little alcohol in Bananas Foster, but they ignite it and it all burns away."

The girl's eyes brightened, because Oh! How she loved bananas and brown sugar! And she'd known some very nice people named the Fosters too. So she said, "Yes! I'd be happy to share your flambéed-alcohol-free-Bananas-Foster! With ice cream, if you please."

The boss smiled, and motioned to a waiter. And the little girl watched in awe as the amazing waiter whipped a chafing dish out of his apron, along with a bunch of bananas, some brown sugar, an orange, and a whole lot of really pretty bottles and flasks and flagons and fifths, and fourths, and jiggers. He poured and squoze and sprinkled and dashed and melted and stirred and sliced and FINALLY! He pulled out a match.

FOOM! went the chafing dish. SSZZZZtt went the waiter's eyebrows. AHHHH went the boss. And OhmythisstuffisincrediblecanIhavemore?WaitI'mnotdone,justonemore?Nojustabitmoreplease!Wowthat'sincredible!Justabitmore! went the little girl.

And everything was fine.

And then . . . . 

WHOA! LOOK AT THAT! THAT'S THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT! LET'S GO THERE! NO WE DON'T NEED THE ELEVATORS! WE CAN CLIMB 898 STEPS IN NO TIME! ESPECIALLY IF WE ARE RUNNING! WOW! IS THAT THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL? LET'S CHECK THAT OUT! WAIT! THE NATIONAL CEMETERY! LET'S COUNT THE HEADSTONES! WHHHAAAAA! ARE THOSE CHERRY BLOSSOMS?! THOSE ARE CHERRY BLOSSOMS, AREN'T THEY? I LOVE THOSE! I'VE NEVER SEEN THEM BEFORE AND YET SOMEHOW I JUST LOVE THEM! OH MY GOSH! LOOK AT THAT LITTLE FLY TRAPPED IN THE CAR. GET THE CAB DRIVER TO ROLL THE WINDOW DOWN! HURRY BEFORE IT KILLS ITSELF SLAMMING AGAINST THE WINDOW! HURRY! I FEEL LIKE CRYING. I'M GOING TO. EXCEPT I'M LAUGHING!

Hmmm.

So. Turns out that not . . . ALL . . . of the alcohol burns off of Bananas Foster. And SOME little girls have a problem with that.

And since this little girl was completely freaked out over the fact that she couldn't even tell there was anything wrong with her–Psh! she wasn't DRUNK! That's ridiculous! Wouldn't she feel like she was if she were?–she decided that continuing to abstain from strong drink was probably the best course of action for her. And that included vanilla.

Forever.

The End.