I've confirmed....

....my original reason for not drinking.

I stopped drinking in college, when I realized I could drink all my friends under the table and any buzz I got was killed the moment I stood up. Nothing. I've never been drunk, but I've consumed copious amounts of alcohol.

That scared me. So, I quit drinking.

(This was before my Mormon days. Not that I'm a good Mormon by any stretch of imagination....or I am to the outside world. But I can confide t you, dear diary.)

I haven't had a drink, not a sip, since 1991.

Until last week.

I was hanging out with my pal Mandy at ... guess where? ... yep, Friday's in Lubbock. Dear Greg was the bartender. She'd warmed up to Greg quite a bit by then. The day before, we'd been eating lunch and she made a comment about herself, along the lines of, "No, I don't need dessert. Can't you tell I eat too many of those already?"

He leaned on the table and said, "Don't slam yourself like that. You're a beautiful woman."

For the first time I've ever seen, she was speechless. She looked up into his eyes and gaped. Then she recovered, and smiled. "Oh, you're gooood," she said.

So, we were seated in the bar and Mandy had reason to celebrate. I can't go into details because legal action is involved, but we were in a joyous, raucous mood. Mandy's potty mouth was in full force, complete with innuendos about the size of Greg's foot.

She ordered a dirty martini. I looked at Greg and said, "I don't drink. What would you recommend for starters?" He smiled and said he knew just the thing.

It's called the Ultimate Electric Lemonade. It's blue and tasty. I liked that. Good choice, dear. I could tell it was a little light on the liquor, but okay. I wondered what had happened with my tolerance in the last 17 years.

Mandy tasted her martini and about fell over. "The boy mixes them strong!" she said. Too strong, apparently. She asked for extra olive juice to water it down. Still too strong. And this from a woman who can down these like water. She handed it to me. "You gotta taste this. I know you don't drink, but you'll understand this."

It burned a path to my stomach. And I liked it.

"I can't drink this," she finally said. I jumped on it.

"Can I have a chocolate martini," she called to Greg.

"A chocolate martini? What's wrong with the dirty martini?" he asked.

"I like it," I said, taking the glass from her. He gave me a funny look and said, "Really? Okay, then."

We watched him put the chocolate sauce in the glass. By the time he brought it, I was chewing on the olive from my empty glass. "You want something to eat? The sausage and chicken pasta is good," he said. I said no, and he went back to the bar.

"She already has enough sausage in her life," Mandy muttered. I told her she was very bad and to shush.

"I heard that!" Greg called from the bar, laughing.

Mandy eyed her martini. "I don't think that's what I want." She opened the menu. What she wanted was a mudslide martini. Oh well. She tried this one.

Nope, she didn't like that one, either. Too sweet. I tried it. I liked it. Greg saw me take that one, too. My Electric Lemonade was about half finished.

"What now? Was that not right?" he said, stopping at the table. He took my empty martini glass and watched me sip the new one. "Well, I have to admit, I just made that up. We don't have a chocolate martini on the menu." He said what was in it, and I thought it was lovely.

Mandy pointed at the mudslide martini. He took off to go make that one, eying me as I considered licking the chocolate sauce from inside the glass. I opted for my fingertip instead. Soon, I abandoned that to finish the Electric Lemonade.

He brought Mandy's mudslide martini, and she sipped at it for a few moments. "No, that's not what I want either," she declared.

It was lovely, too.

She put a hand in the air, and called, "Oh Gregory! Can I have a Coors Light?"

He stopped in his tracks, staring at her. He wallked deliberately to our table, a bit of a scowl on his face.

"No."

"What?" Mandy said. "Why not?"

"No, I mean that thing you just said. That won't happen. My mother doesn't even call me that."

Mandy stared at him and busted out laughing. He laughed, too, and shot me a look when he realized I was drinking the mudslide martini, too.

Mandy and I sat and finished our drinks. We had some chicken. Another friend and her (adult) daughter joined us. A good time was had by all, and Greg got good tips.

I needed to use the ladies' room. Here was the test. Would the buzz disappear when I stood, like the old days?

I put both feet firmly on the floor and stood.

I was lightheaded for a moment. Then, it happened. Everything stabilized around me and that was it. Buzz killed.

I was aware of Greg watching me walk past. Mandy was watching when I returned. "I can't believe it," she said. "You're not feeling this, are you?"

"Nope."

"How'd you get such a tolerance?"

"Long line of alcoholics before me, I suppose. It's my Irish-Scottish-German-Viking blood."

Thinking back, the only erosion of my normal behavior seems to be the moment I seriously considered getting a tattoo that night. But that thought left when I stood up.

And so why shouldn't I drink?

Because ever since, I've craved more of it. There's the danger for me.