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.
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