Tried to “casually drink” and ended up emotionally bonding with a toaster

Last weekend I poured myself one glass of wine. Just one. The vibe was supposed to be chill light music, maybe a snack, nothing wild.

Somewhere between glass #2 and #I-lost-count, I found myself in the kitchen talking to my toaster. Not just talking. Thanking it. For its years of loyal service. Like some sort of underappreciated kitchen soldier.

I apparently said, “You’ve never let me down. Unlike Karen from payroll.

I don’t even know a Karen from payroll.

Woke up the next morning with a half-eaten Pop-Tart in my bed and an opened bottle of olive oil next to my pillow like it was wine’s supportive friend.

Drinking casually is a myth. I am not built for moderation.