Why I don't drink non-alcoholic drinks

Anybeth—who I keep wanting to call "Amy Beth"—commented on my post Mmmmm, Mexican food saying that "a non-alcoholic margarita would taste great." I want to clarify why I ended my original post by saying, "Naw, I think I'll just stick to their food." This is not to criticize Anybeth in any way; I'm hope she'll be able to find some of those margaritas and enjoy them without consequence. But I can't.

For me it would be too much like, too close to actual drinking. More and more questions like those I started asking at the end of that post would begin to fill my head and get me to thinking. I would start remembering all those wonderful times I had when I was out there—whether they were really there or not. Soon I would be stealing a little of what the Big Book on page 101 calls vicarious pleasure from the atmosphere. And next thing you know, I would say to myself in the most casual way, "It won't burn me this time; so here's how!" And after the third or fourth, I'd be pounding on the bar and saying to myself, "For God's sake, how did I ever get started again?" Only to have that thought supplanted by "Well, I'll stop with the sixth drink." Or "What's the use anyhow?" (p. 24)

For me, this could easily be just how it happens. So, again, and just for me, I really do need to stick to only the food. And a soft drink or glass of water.