Trick Answer

New Day, Same Sun

I recently quit drinking because I need to work on positive mental health, and its the easiest way for me to refocus on goals. The problem is, I like to get shit-faced, and I find in the aftermath of binge drinking, I take two steps backwards, loosing motivation, causing my productivity to suffer.
In my early twenties, I went on a booze sabbatical. I was finishing college and booze was an added stress to the list of finding a job, figuring out where to live, and dealing with that early twenties concern of being less a Miranda and more a Charlotte. Getting to mid-thirties, clearly Samantha is the only one who has sense, but like Madonna says, "I think everyone should get married at least once, so you can see what a silly, outdated, archaic institution it is."
Because I am too shy for therapy, I turn to fitness in these times. During my last bout of sobriety I ran ten miles a day. That is fucking ridiculous to any person who has a fulfilling life, but to someone who is trying to bury their head in the sand, and tune out, it is utterly effective.

My parents are always a great support, and they were happy when I told them I am calling it quits for a while. I think they were tired of me drinking all their beer, and finding me asleep, fully clothed, with my phone resting on my stomach. A couple days ago, I was at their house, and my dad called, saying, "Hey, I'm going to the store. Do you want anything to drink?"
"Yes, I do. Get me a bottle of rosé. I like Sofia. You'll recognize the bottle."
He raised his voice a bit, "God dammit, Alicia. That was a trick question. Can't you make it a week?"
I huffed in reply, and said, "Oh, um. Yes... That was a trick answer. Gotcha Papa!"
Then he laughed and hung up before hearing me scream, "Get me a coke!"

I love making my dad laugh. He is a brilliant, solid-gold specimen of a human being, who is a distracted, workaholic, so when I can make him laugh, shaking him from whatever train of thought is coiled around his brain, I feel like I'm adding humor to his complicated and dense life.
I enjoy going to the gym with my dad. He routinely posts up on the treadmill next to whichever woman has the biggest ass and tits, and power walks on a steep incline, sporadically singing loudly to music playing on his iPod. I'd stroll around, roll my eyes after seeing him, then go find a punching bag to pulverize for 30 minutes trying to imagine anyones face but mine.
I did spinning classes a lot, but post kids, I find the classes too early in the morning. Setting an alarm for 5 AM is not going to happen until my kids get into grade school, and there is a guaranteed zero chance I will be up in the middle of the night.
Im missing out on spinning class, but I don't miss the concerns that come along with it. I was always worried I could catch an STD from the bike seat, since it wedges itself right between the ol' baby chute. I imagine the uphill battle convincing someone my STD came from a nonsexual experience.
Here's how I picture explaining this to my General Practitioner. I'd start out by saying, "There is no way I got an STD, unless I picked my nose and dove right into masturbating." Then a lightbulb goes off over my head, and I point a shaking finger at her, saying, "You know what? It has to be from that spinning bike seat! I've always worried about those germ sponges being a thin sheet of cotton from my nether regions."
Skeptically, she shakes her head, marking notes on her clipboard, of course. And, I throw my hands up in a don't shoot position, adding, "I read the reports. I wash all my prison panties before wearing!"
She's not buying it.