Today I was on my way home when I found myself walking behind a cute guy in a smart suit. He was carrying a few groceries in a see-through plastic bag, like he’d just swung by the supermarket. There was a stick of French bread poking out the top of the bag, but what caught my eye was a bottle of red wine that seemed to be looking straight at me.
The strongest cravings take you by surprise
I could murder a glass of red wine, I thought. I miss it so much.
I looked at the bag more closely. I bet he has some cheese in there too. That’s what I’d buy. Bread, cheese and a bucket of wine. Maybe he’s going back to the flat he shares with his girlfriend? Maybe they’re going to have a romantic night in. Not only did I long for the wine but I yearned for the whole picture: the thoughtful boyfriend, the night in cuddled on the sofa, the sophisticated chit chat over a glass or two.
I am never going to have that now.
The guy walked into my building and we got the lift together. I turned my back on him and pretended to study the wall.
Where did that intense craving come from? I haven’t lusted after wine like that for weeks. I’m tired today but was in a pretty good mood at the time. I’d just had a sports massage – a necessary evil – and was congratulating myself on being proactive and doing something about my aching legs before I got injured. Before I stopped drinking I’d have never got round to that kind of thing.
The wine wasn’t even nice wine. I’m pretty sure I recognised the brand – it was the cheap stuff that’s normally on offer. He hadn’t even picked decent wine and still I wanted it.
It wasn’t long before the craving passed, maybe twenty minutes or so. As I write this, several hours later, I feel absolutely fine. It’s as if I’m writing about another person. Weird. I’d still like a cute boyfriend who brings home dinner though…