I was 38? Not sure. I was a teetotaller. I didn’t drink because alcoholism ruined both sides of my family, and I didn’t want to even be tempted. Drinking and being drunk had no appeal. When I drank ANY alcohol, my face would swell up: lips, tongue, sinuses, and throat. And that was stuff like Nyquil, or my wife at the time always wanted me to “just sip this foo-foo drink, and tell me it’s not great!” My wife drank (responsibly) and liked big, fruity drinks, and she always wanted me to taste what she was having. My lips would swell up, but I always figured that was because I never drank and was a lightweight.
I was at a friend’s wedding in Salem. Her side had maybe 5 people. The groom’s side had over 100. The groom’s side was Greek, and despite my multiple attempts to rebuff their stuffing wine down my mouth, it ended up happening because of stupid peer pressure. I probably had 2/3rds of a bottle. I felt like I had the biggest ENT infection ever; I saw amber, and then blacked out. Only I didn’t. I was later told that “your face was red, but it was hard to see in all the dim lighting (it was an outdoor event). You seemed a little out of it, but I was drunk, soooo…” I woke up at the groom’s brother’s house in their guest bed. No memory of how I got there. I wasn’t sick, as apparently I drank a lot of water, but I was pretty fucking terrified.
Everyone said I was nice, chatty, and I know I was awake because I texted sexy things to my wife. “Oh my god, you’re drunk, and I am not there to see it!” was one of her replies. Shit. My nose was runny, I could barely swallow, and when I looked in the mirror, it looked like I had rosacea. When I went down to the kitchen, the bride and groom were there, and my friend said “you don’t look so good.” I told her what had happened, and she got REALLY angry, since it was her father in law who had made me drink (he claimed if i didn’t drink his imported wine, he would be insulted, and it was bad luck). I drank lots of water, and eventually, the swelling went down and I could breathe normally. No sir, I didn’t like it. I didn’t see the appeal of being drunk.
Later, I decided that I wasn’t mad about it. I had decided to just deal with the effects of alcohol instead of making a scene at a Greek wedding. “I can now say I was drunk once, I didn’t die or make a fool of myself, and I still didn’t like it.” It kind of cemented “I will never drink,” and I still haven’t at 56.
A few years later, they were doing an allergy test, and it turns out I am allergic to alcohol. Not like anaphylaxis, but something called “flush” which is common with Asians, apparently (I am not Asian). That’s why my body reacts that way, only I didn’t know it because I never drank.
See, I think one of three scenarios might have happened:
As a writer, one of the aggravating tropes we have to follow is, “make the story believable,” when reality sometimes doesn’t align with “a good story.” Some criminals are really that stupid, and some armchair theory, based on decades of movies, books, and TV shows, you expect “hey, this is what they SHOULD have done is.” And they didn’t. It’s like when a chessmaster has to watch complete amateurs play chess. “Obvious strategies” are ignored, and basically both players are just not thinking past their last move.