The Box Is a Liar

Series: Bad Habits
[1. The Pantry] • [2. The Box]

Part 2 of 2: How a plastic spout, a wine box, and a little optimism conspire against me.

Turns out salty snacks aren’t the only habit people worry about for me.

The Math That Haunts Me

Let’s get the math out of the way first so we can all feel better, or worse, together.

According to the people who study these things, about 63 percent of adults in this country have a drink now and then. Some of us grab a glass. Some grab a can. And some of us, heaven help us, grab a box.

I looked it up. A standard glass of red wine is about 125 calories. A box holds four and a half bottles. That’s roughly twenty two glasses.

You do the math. My belt certainly did.

Now let’s be real. No amount of alcohol is healthy. I know that. You know that. We are all grown ups here. I live in the real world, not a doctor’s office brochure. In my world, habits are ranked and generally well behaved. They are not perfect. They are negotiated.

The Calendar in the Cupboard

My relationship with the glass has a calendar.

In winter, it’s red wine. Mostly blends. Fancy people call it meritage. That sounds like something you’d buy in a store with carpet, but it really just means someone mixed a few leftover grapes together and hoped for the best.

One of my favorites is called Ménage à Trois. Just saying the name makes me feel like that skinny little boy from Cleveland Ohio again. I’m not that boy anymore, but the name still makes me wink at the kitchen wall.

When summer hits and I’m up in Wisconsin, things get simple. Miller Lite. Cold. Familiar. It tastes like fish frys, lawn chairs, and talk that doesn’t matter. The best kind of talk.

Lately, though, I’ve been sitting with a glass of Jameson Irish whiskey. On the rocks. No speech. No ceremony. Just a little quiet in a loud world.

None of this is a mistake. It’s how I mark the time.

The Numbers on the Machine

I’m getting close to Medicare age. That sounds scary until you say it out loud three times. Then it just sounds like a number waiting patiently in the corner.

I’m doing okay for a guy my age. No pills. Blood pressure is good. Cholesterol is fine. I move around.

Sleep, however, is a mess.

I fall asleep fast, but I wake up around two in the morning. My brain clocks in for a shift I did not request. I get up, walk to the bathroom, maybe have milk and cookies. Read a little. The house is quiet. The world is paused.

And don’t tell me it’s the drink messing with my sleep. I’ve heard that song before. I’m not interested in the remix.

The Box That Lied

This past holiday season was rough on my middle. Red wine puts weight on me faster than a shovel moves dirt.

Every so often, I make the mistake of buying boxed wine.

I tell myself it’s practical. I tell myself it stays fresh. The box proudly announces it holds four and a half bottles. That sounds reasonable until you realize how smoothly that plastic spout works.

Too smoothly.

Those bottles disappear like a magic trick.

I don’t have a drinking problem, but I do have a “the box is a liar” problem. It sits on the counter and smiles at you. It looks like it plans to stay awhile.

It never does.

That extra weight didn’t come from thin air. It came from a cardboard cube with a plastic thumb trigger.

The Dreadmill Bargain

I try to walk every day. I use the treadmill at the clubhouse. I call it the dreadmill because honesty matters.

For a while I was working hard. Thirty minutes. Heart pounding. Sweat everywhere. Very proud.

Not a single ounce lost.

So I did what men do. I looked at charts.

Turns out, for guys like me, moderate is the magic word. Moderate follows me everywhere.

Now I walk for sixty minutes at a slower pace. My heart behaves. It’s killing me in a quieter, longer way. I’ve seen a tiny bit of progress. Tiny.

Which tells me walking alone is not going to undo what a box of wine and a lot of optimism created.

Frown.

The Truth of It

People think we have bad habits because we are confused.

We aren’t.

We have them because we like how things taste. Because we want the day to end on a high note. Wine in winter feels right. Beer in summer feels earned. Whiskey feels like a period at the end of a sentence.

I eat my greens. I eat my fiber. I move my legs. I pay attention. I’m not reckless. I’m human.

My snacks do not need supervision.
My drinks do not need supervision.

What I probably need is a smaller wine box and a treadmill that comes with a snooze button.

Series: Bad Habits
[1. The Pantry] • [2. The Box]

I am not an expert. I am a generalist. I notice things.