My Martini intervention

You may know by now that I’m a big fan of Martinis. It’s not that I’m a big drinker; I just like my RyanCentric Martinis a bit. So much so that I’ve composed an ode in their honour.

But did you also know that I thought I was turning into an alcoholic because of them? Well, there was a week in my life when I feared that was happening.

It all started when Paul and I first started making Martinis. I’d get home from work and he would mix me a yummy cocktail. And I would empty my glass and ask for another. Sometimes, I even caught myself having a third drink. Very unlike me, as was a second!

Worse, I would think about Martinis all day at work and I would wish that I could have a Martini at lunch. Yes, I was craving delicious, dirty Martinis all day long.

After a few days of this increased drinking – and increased desire to drink – I realised that I needed to sit down and talk to Paul about it. I was frightened and worried and honestly wondered if these lovely Martinis had opened some sort of alcoholic flood gate. On the drive home one night, I decided that I would enjoy one last Martini then I’d talk to Paul. It had to be done.

So I sat there on the couch looking at my drink with its three olives stewing in the delicious liquid. I took my first sip then ate one of the olives. As I did so, I savoured the flavour then took another sip. When my drink was half empty, I enjoyed the second olive. Then I sat there staring at that last olive, wishing it was in my mouth. But I didn’t eat it because I had a strict rule that I wouldn’t eat the last olive until my drink was gone.

And then it hit me: I was drinking my Martini quickly so that I could eat the last olive. And I started to laugh at myself as I realised that I wasn’t becoming an alcoholic – I was just addicted to the salty goodness of pimento-stuffed green olives!

When Paul came out to see what I was laughing about, he took his turn laughing at me. Then we laughed together.

After that, Paul would make sure there was a small bowl of olives on the coffee table when he made me a Martini. And do you know something? I immediately stopped worrying about my drink after that. And sometimes, I wouldn’t even finish one Martini in an evening – let alone two or three of them.

The olives, however, never had a chance …