A Letter

Dear Woody,

It’s been awhile, I know. How have you been?

I’m sorry I haven’t visited or asked you over in awhile. And part of me feels that maybe instinctively you knew this was coming, which is why you’ve kept your distance lately.

Woody, I think it’s officially over between us.

It’s not you, I swear… it’s me.

I know, when we had that big talk about 6 months ago, when I tried to end things then, you promised to give me my space… You wanted to remain together to see if we could make this work, and I was grateful that you were willing to do that… but, it’s just not working anymore, while I love you as a booze and a friend… I’m not IN love with you anymore.

I’ll always remember the good times and I hope you will too… that fateful October night in Kentucky when we met… the nights you comforted me (after MANY football losses), the nights we celebrated (after football wins. Okay, you’re right… that only happened like twice. That’s what you get for dating a gamecock fan). You were never jealous when I flirted with other booze… you were the one that even suggested that we try an open relationship, so that I could enjoy wine and beer on occasion. Hell, you didn’t even care that I’d come home to you after being out drinking wine all night. You were just happy to be with me. Always wanting to please me. I never doubted your affection or your devotion to me. I always knew that you were just a pour away.

You were the perfect booze boyfriend. For awhile, I thought we’d be together forever. I imagined us… a wedding… an embarrassing, but delightfully drunken toast…  But, I’ve just been following a different path lately. Gone are the days when I’d spend a Saturday afternoon texting every local friend I have asking… “hey… wanna meet me at the bar to get day drunk, I’m bored?” (in which case you were there when I couldn’t find anyone willing (ummm… mostly the case) and you were there when I got home after finally convincing someone to meet me and I just needed one last taste of you… a nightcap before throwing up and passing out in bed.

I loved you, Woody, I really did. I know at times, it probably felt like you were just a late night booty call. But, you were more than that to me. You are so smooth and warm, dark, rugged and manly, with a scent of vanilla oak that kept me wanting more and more of you. And you always made me feel confident, sexy, and smart… what girl wouldn’t fall in love with you?

Which is why I have to let you go. You deserve better. I’ve held you back for far too long. But don’t you worry about me… For the most part, it’s been good. I’ll still drink occasionally… (ya know… wine tastings, weddings, beach trips, beer miles, beer pub runs, etc). But none of that warrants enough of your time to stay with me.

Some of my friends are even upset with me about breaking up with you. A lot of them say that they miss Amy under the influence of Woody. They miss me stumbling around holding a glass of you, sloshing you about as I ramble on about existentialism, buddhism, or some other “ism” that I’ve read a few books about and therefore feel like I’m an expert after I’ve spent about an hour with you. It’s tough, ya know? It makes me feel like some of my friends were really only my friends because of you. And because of how fun you made me. (apparently Sober Amy can be a real drag. Who wants to listen to a sober person drone on about existentialism? gag).

So, it’s with a heavy heart (and a healthier liver) that I bid you adieu. I’ll never forget you Woody. Thank you for all the good times. And I wish you nothing but the best with whatever new drunk girl you find next.

Love,
Amy