At New Years’ Eve With Italians


I was quite thrilled at the thought of spending a meal with people so much unlike me. It was a New Year’s Eve meal and not much of a dinner according to the hostess as we had only soup, salad, pasta, freshly cut finest cold cuts, panettone with coffee for dessert.

I left out a  detail, there was wine. A shot of red wine was offered before the meal began as is the custom. Everyone had one including me. Soup was served followed by salad, pasta and cold cuts.  Which reminds me of all the toxins and chemicals used in making it followed by the fats and red meats that media condemns as the source of our disease. I could feel the salt and grease in my mouth as I took a piece of meat, washed it down with a sip of red wine. The warm effect of the liquid flowed smoothly straight into my stomach. It was comforting, soothing, convincing  conniving to a decision I contrite that night, I would drink.

We were four couples all passed our fifties  and the gathering began in a very festive mood. I resolve to not join the conversation but instead listen and enjoy.

But the comforting feeling the wine gave me, made me want it more. There was no need to pretend and show an interest in the conversation, I was giggling and laughing. At their accent. The television mini serial “The Sopranos”  was playing in my mind. I could almost feel I was one of the actors in the program.

When dinner was over I discovered another bottle of wine sitting in a corner alone. It was uncorked. I tasted it. Not bad. All I felt was this warm liquid as I took a shot. It’s relaxing. Then another shot. Then another.  The next time I check the bottle it was halfway empty.

Not long after I felt nauseous, but I maintained my composure. I excused myself discreetly, controlled myself by trying to walk slowly into the restroom. As soon as the door opened  I knelt on the floor facing the toilet bowl. Nothing. Came out. I stuck my forefinger into my throat as far it could reach. Everything came out. Then I was fine. I fix my face and hair went back to the living room. Back to my chair.

A friend across noticed my presence, stared  and began to laugh. A kind of laugh that was annoying me. I tried to be serious. He pointed at the white splashes on my chest.  I followed his fingers, the remnants of my puke was all over.

<a href=””>Stroke of Midnight</a>

2 thoughts on “At New Years’ Eve With Italians

  1. Pingback: The moon is beautiful, isn’t it? – Ramisa Writes

  2. Pingback: The moon is beautiful, isn’t it? | Ramisa the Authoress

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s