"So you're not drinking? At all? Really?"  I insist I'm fine with my cider.  Life without alcohol demands strategy. For example, most dinner parties don't provide a non-alcoholic beverage, so I bring my own -- something with garnish and flair, something as fancy as the alcoholic option: organic lemonade with strawberries, slow-brewed ginger ale with candied ginger, iced green tea with homegrown mint.  At gatherings, fellow guests ogle my drink, share if they're so inclined, ask some questions and then relax.  Usually, people are more interested in what's in their own glass. So much so that people forget: 1) I didn't drink last time; 2) I am not currently drinking; and 3) I won't be drinking in the future. Even after telling new friends a dozen times I don't drink, they still offer me alcoholic beverages at parties or picnics. It must be unfathomable --or maybe just forgettable -- that a 30-year-old woman wouldn't tipple.  When I first quit drinking, having to say no to cute cocktails and slender-stemmed wine glasses filled me with bottomless shame. I've since grown into my life as a non-drinker -- a life without starting awake covered in sweat and wringing my hands as I fumble to recall what I said or did in the previous hours -- and embraced my choice to abstain.  I relish the benefits, too. I sleep like a kitten. I feel clearer and calmer than I ever did during my decade-long stint with booze. I enjoy beautiful mornings. I don't let secrets slip.  If people really want to know the brutal truth of why I quit, I tell them. I blacked out. I behaved badly. I couldn't predictably control my intake. I made poor decisions. I experienced gut-twisting, head-imploding hangovers. Anxiety choked me. But these truths are a buzz kill.
At a recent dinner party, my friend's roommate poured guests another glass of white wine. It smelled crisp, cold, and juicy -- clearly the sort of wine that prickles the gums, softens the face and