My Relationship with Alcohol

It's been politely pointed to me, there are some indications, I am being obsessed with an alcohol. I have no need or a desire to explain myself, primary because I couldn't care less what somebody else thinks of me and beside that, I firmly believe, to take such a course is silly and completely necessary. That is to say, I subscribe to a notion, your friends don't need any explanation and your enemies won't believe it. However, an aforementioned remark inspired me to write a following account of my attitude toward alcohol.

 

First of all, rather then obsession, I'd like to call it a life-long lasting passion  Yes indeed, I
am not afraid to admit I admire alcohol, but just the same, I've been fortunate enough to avoid developing a physical dependence on it.

 

My intimate relationship with alcohol went through its phases over the years, but we never forsaken each other. In the beginning, there were my explorative times of an indiscriminate approach to alcohol, when I would drink anything, anywhere and any amount available (ahhh, those sweet, confusing days of  an innocent soul-searching, experimenting and discovering). Then, later on I became an occasional social drinker, still not particularly selective in terms of varieties (of both: the booze and the establishments I would consume
it). And finally, after all those happy years, our close-knitted partnership with my good old buddy alcohol evolved to its current refined form, the best described as: "quality over quantity". I learned and graduated to appreciate a significant distinction between a $20 bottle of commercially produced grain spirit and the unparallel depth and character of an agreeably tasting fine French cognac or a scrumptious single malt Scotch.

 

These exquisite times of a pure satisfaction, when smooth, soft and lasting flavour of Dalwhinnie rolls on my tongue are precisely those rare moments, that are worth living for. 

 

Milo.