Dear diary,

Here we are on a sober Sunday after my not so fun-filled night on the town Friday. Being the homebody I am, I had every intention of going out and shaking a tail feather to shake up the city to mark my first taste of nightlife in Porto.

“Let’s try out the Gin House,” I said to myself, a place where a few locals suggested. It’s where I was told the 40 and above crowd go for gin cocktails and dancing. Cool! But I got there early and was told the night doesn’t start until after 11:30. Well that was 1-1/2 hours past my bedtime, so I decided to grab a bite to eat at a restaurant nearby. And that’s when the night got interesting…

“Do you mind if I have a seat and join you?” I heard as I was munching on pizza and a Moscow mule. “Sure.” He was a younger guy in his 30s, with beautiful green lust-filled eyes. He was a Frenchman from Paris, in town for a mechanical engineer convention, with a flight out the next morning. This was his last night in town and he wasted no time with the small talk, telling me how I’d caught his eye and was his type, while casually attempting to caress my arm and hold my hand. Then he asked what I was drinking and could he taste a sip. I finished my last sip and let him try the rest (for my lips were not going to be touching that glass again). He said he made the best Moscow mules at home and offered to show me his hotel room nearby. Being the lady I am, I declined the offer as well as the offer for him to accompany me the rest of night. “Sorry, but please do go enjoy your evening. I’d rather enjoy mine alone.” He then asked could he finish my drink. Without being a gentleman and offering to pay for it? Boy bye!

After I shook off “bug a boo,” it was time to revisit the Gin House. The beautiful decor drew me in along with the massive collection of gin. The bartender stated he would make me a special gin cocktail, which on first sip was delightful on the tongue and went down easy. It wasn’t long before a past recollection creeped up in my mind. Remember London 2017? Gin and tonic messed you up and you swore not to ever drink it again. It was a trip with my adult daughter where she captured the most hideous pic of me tore up from gin that for years she got a funny kick out of using as the screensaver on her phone when I called.

Well it wasn’t long before the ill effects of gin washed over me. I would spend the next day sick to my stomach with headache and nausea, having to go to the farmacia to request something for motion sickness. I would spend the rest of my Saturday recuperating from the effects and said to myself, I need a reminder phrase to never drink gin again. “Gin is not for the win!” That’s it. That’s my phrase to never return to gin, again.

I imagine that is much how life is. We revisit things we recollect are not good for us, and don’t learn the lesson until we again become sick. As I thought back on that night I recalled not only the gin, but how I had dated someone in my past that was just like bug a boo.

I reimagine honoring my recollections and only repeating the ones that leave me feeling good, honor my sense of self, and elevate my experiences. I agree to disagree with those things that don’t agree with me. Here’s to my new resolve of finding sophisticated fun in the city. No more gin, and definitely no more bug a boos.