So, I was home early from work last night.
As I drove home, I thought to myself how I would have behaved in this situation a month ago. I would without doubt have gone to the supermarket, bought at least one bottle of wine - likely more - and gone home and finished them before Luke finished work.
I was so proud of myself, that this was all behind me, that I almost didn't notice when I parked the car at Sainsbury's. Never mind, I thought, since I was there, I'd nip in and get something for dinner. I wandered round the shop, and somehow, despite my absolute intentions and firm belief in myself, I found myself at the checkout with a bottle of wine in my hand.
By that point it seemed inevitable. And it didn't really even seem so bad - who gives up booze for a whole month anyway?
By the time Luke came home I was snoring quietly to myself on the sofa. The empty bottle was in the bin outside, and a cup of tea was cooling on the table in front of me. He felt sorry for me, being so tired, and made me dinner, despite the fact he'd been at work all day and I'd done virtually nothing. It was only at that point that the guilt started.
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