no way to break the spell [or is there?].

Day 34 | Dry as a Nilla Wafer | The Snickers Are Acquiring a Nice Coat of Dust Beneath the Dryer

A girl and her black Lab walk into a trendy happenin’ deliciously-cool bar on a hot summer afternoon [in Barcelona].

The girl and her black Lab walk right back out into the heat.


This place is located in Barcelona. Take note of the Lab’s screwy eyeballs—he’s had a few.

Wanna know my secret at thwarting temptation?

I haven’t been in a bar or a restaurant in 34 days.

Not in Barcelona, not in London, New York or even nearby Beantown.

Whenever I’ve tried to pull this stunt before—quit the drinking, the eating—I’d psyche myself up into thinking I could face the shiny bottles of booze and the baskets of warm, delectable pillows of baked goodness and oil at Bertucci’s—without caving into temptation.

But what about on a Friday night?

You know, Friday. Night.

Husband’s there, sitting opposing me, looking his handsome self.

He’s relieved the work week is through.

It’s a full moment, settling into our seats. A reprieve.

Breathe out the stress. Breathe in—

[The soft light cast on the bar]


How wonderfully enticing, comforting, the bar appears.

The bottles—blue, green, amber, clear.

Clean, sterile-like.


A giant bottle of Grey Goose [that won’t fit in our freezer, I’ve tried].

A cute little bottle of Chambord.

The bartender.

The bartender.

The bartender.

The ice crunching in the cocktail shaker.

Cocktail shaker.

Cocktail shaker.

Cocktail shaker.

I can fight it, I’d say to myself.

I can fight it, I’d say louder.

I can fight it, I’d clamor and hit my fist against the table.

“Welcome to Bertucci’s, first time here?”

“I’ll have a Ketel martini with a whisper of brine.” A pillow of goodness protrudes from the side of my mouth. “Three olives.”

[I grimace] “Right away. [nod] Please. [ease into a smile] Thank you.”


Keeping out of a bar and a restaurant for 34 days may seem extreme.

But, it’s working.