I do most of my drinking at lunchtime.  I don’t make this statement wishing to be judged; it is simply a broad statement of fact.

In a different age––the 80s and 90s––lunchtime drinking would have been regarded as a perfectly acceptable professional pursuit; nowadays, it is slightly frowned upon.

Typically––and through choice, I might add––I drink alone.  Not just alone as in without a companion unique to me, but alone as in no one else in the entire establishment.

However, occasionally––very occasionally––I find my alcoholic sanctuary invaded by a fellow lunchtime drinker.

Never do I contemplate joining this comrade; I would not so much pass a word with them as I would forgo my pint; however, I do find myself studying them.  Like a rare specimen under a microscope, I analyse them: wonder about their circumstances; how they earn a living; the nature of their relationships.

And, invariably, I find myself feeling jealous of them.  Jealous of their carefree flagrance of convention; jealous of their alcoholic afternoon abandon; jealous of the time they have available to fritter away in ill-spent leisure.

Jealous of their similarity to me.

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue actually spends more time being thankful than she does being jealous.