Okay, so I have a confession to make: I fell off the wagon and saw my friend Matt last night. Yes, my old friend Matt, the one I’d sworn off for the sake of this blog.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but he read the post about him, and we got to e-mailing. The next thing I knew, we were having dinner…and we even spoke a little French.
Actually, that’s a lie—we didn’t speak any French, because neither of us can remember enough to have a conversation. But we did speak, in English, about how much fun it would be to speak French, if we could remember any.
And while I was there with Matt, I also had a Diet Coke…which I guess is okay, because I never said I was giving that up. Although, it wasn’t really a Diet Coke, because the bar we went to doesn’t sell Coca-Cola products. It was this local micro-brewed diet cola equivalent, which I used to sort of hate, but now I sort of like. Go figure.
Regardless…I’m climbing back on the wagon now, I promise, no matter how fast it’s barreling away from me. And once I’m back up there, I’ll fight my way through the army of bad guys riding on the back of the wagon, tossing them off the sides, one by one. And when I get to the last bad guy up front—the big one who’s holding the reins—I’ll say something like, “Au revoir, Monsieur Bad Guy,” and I’ll kick him right in his big greasy handlebar moustache. And as he falls screaming off the wagon, I’ll grab the reins, drive that wagon straight home, and write another blog post.
Soon. I promise.