I know better.

Can’t think of a worse nightmare. Than being married to an alcoholic. Chances are. The marriage wouldn’t last. Unless she went in for treatment. I’d plead with her to stop drinking. For her sake. And for the sake of our relationship. As a last resort, I’d find a way to more or less stop her from drinking. For an extended period. Perhaps 30 days. To see if that would work. I’d be her shadow. Monitoring her. For 24/7. Never leaving her alone. In an attempt to deny her drink. I’d try to be persuasive. Kind and gentle, too. But forceful. In applying a zero-tolerance policy. She wouldn’t even be permitted to smell a bar rag. Once I got her sober, I’d swing into swift action. As an amiable entertainer. Telling jokes. And exuding good vibes. I’d try to make the 30 days a wonderful and soothing experience. Anyway, at the moment, I’m feeling thankful. And blessed. Because I’ve never been married to an alcoholic. I know better. --Jim Broede