My friend Lauren, who asked me not to use her real name, has been sober for more than two years. She was a good friend — someone I texted almost daily with news and commentary, wardrobe emergencies, and, of course, plans to have our ritual pre-dinner glass of wine. It didn’t happen every afternoon. But three or four days a week, Lauren would come over around 5 p.m., after I’d had a long enough day with a toddler to think a smidge of wine sounded like a great idea, but before either of our husbands came home.
As it turned out, that was usually her third or fourth drink of the day.
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