The High Price of Being a Cheap Date

​I had my first drink in a bar at age 14. Not boasting, we’re just setting the stage. My sister gave me her old driver’s license. If I remember correctly, she’d reported it stolen specifically for this purpose. (Yay, supportive families!) 

At the bar, we were drinking something bright red. It was called a Mother. The flavor? Think of a popular fruit punch mix with a mascot that looks like a giant, coked-up beverage pitcher that crashes through walls. My 14-year-old palate was delighted. After the second Mother, I required support on the walk home. And, briefly, the cover of a nearby bush. (Apologies to those long-ago homeowners, whoever you were.)

Flash forward eight years to the world of New York Advertising. The mature business folks in my orbit (they were probably in their 30s) were ordering martinis or scotch rocks. I don’t do olives, so scotch it was. Sipped and civilized. I excelled. 

Over the years, I’ve enjoyed it all. Mostly. There is room in my world for a perfect wine pairing; a barrel-aged bourbon (or most other spirits) with two ice cubes; a margarita (not frozen, salted rim); a Sazerac (look it up, drink, repeat); that first gin & tonic of the season when the weather starts getting warm; a fizzy yellow beer after crossing the finish line… You get the idea. Great flavors can be sipped as well as eaten. 
 
Doctor: “How many drinks would you say you have in a week?”
Me: “Um, hmm…” [Silence]
Doctor:  “It’s okay. I’m not judging.”
Me:  “Hold on. I’m still counting.”
 
Yet, in recent years, the answer to the doctor’s question is much easier to calculate. One. One drink a week enjoyed with a girlfriend at a local joint as we discuss life, the universe and everything. The number does change if there’s a special event. Or if Mr. Parker and I watch a movie where friends are enjoying a Guiness in a pub in Ireland on a rainy day. It’s completely possible we’ll be pulling up two bar stools.

Please allow me to be lazy and quote Google Generative AI: Alcohol consumption in the U.S. has hit a 90-year low, with only 54% of adults reporting they drink, driven by a sharp, consistent decline since 2022, and accelerated by younger generations. (Look at me, trending) 

Reasons cited include: Heightened health consciousness (I myself wanted to drop pounds, so check to that); a rising popularity of non-alcoholic alternatives (check—and more on that in a moment); higher cost (if you’re female and you can’t get a guy to buy you a drink, you’re doing it wrong so, not my problem); a cultural shift away from socializing through alcohol (it certainly makes it easier when friends aren’t drinking. Check!).

To my personal list of reasons I’ll add: being ill. I’d already cut back before the flu darkened my door. But since then, even one drink can leave me feeling slightly off. Plus, I may wake with a headache. A one-drink headache leaves me feel liking a total amateur. (Which, clearly, I am not.)

But there is something about being out and holding a vessel containing a liquid, sipping and chatting. I can pull off this exercise using water with ice. Straight-up seltzer, which comes with its own issues (see also: burping). Iced tea works. And then came Vitamin “C.”

Friends, meet Louie Louie. It’s cannabis in a drinkable format. Think White Claw or High Noon, but infused with cannabis instead of vodka.  Louie Louie is the first brand of THC-infused beverage to cross my path. Light, fizzy (burps with benefits), and no chemical taste. Oh, so social!

Here comes the warning. Slow down, sistah! My first THC-infused beverage outing was at my favorite local hangout. If you read my newsletter (Mailchimp performance reports tell me you might), you know about 100 Men Hall. One night, Mr. Parker brought me a Louie Louie. Delightful. When he was ready for his next beer, he asked if I wanted another Louie. I said, The universe said, wrong answer!

It’s like this stuff is on timed release. And that time is different for everyone at any time. I hadn’t felt the effects of the first drink when I started drinking the second. We left to go home, grab a quick dinner, then head out again for some local music. A fine plan, but…

Louie started knocking on my brain in the golfcart on the ride home. Like the first four words of the song by The Kingsmen, “Louie Louie, oh no!” It was finally kicking-in almost two hours after I’d started round one. Here we go! Once home, I clutched the chairs on my way to the sofa where I flopped down and held on. Over in the kitchen, Mr. Parker was moving foods and speaking words. 

“I’m not leaving this sofa!” In my mind, those were the words I said out loud. Who knows what he heard. But he laughed and clearly understood I was toast and the night was over. 

I’m a weedy little lightweight. There is now no such thing as a night of two Louies. If I do one Louie, it’s cut with water and ice, and lasts a long time. My preferred brand is now something called Float. Float doesn’t pack the same punch, the taste is good, it’s low-calorie, and again: no flavor of better living through chemistry.

Is there a moral to all this? Hmm. Good question. And…nope. Just a friendly warning. An understanding that there are options. And the knowledge that I now have handles on my sofa, should I forget what I’ve learned…Or decided I’m doing it anyway. 

Stay Careful-ish!
​-Honey Parker