Dry

I don't touch alcohol between Halloween and Thanksgiving. The self-imposed rule allows me to lose a pants size or two and lets me bounce out of bed every morning with a spring in my step. I find that I only long for a beer at the end of a particularly taxing day. That's good to know. When I open a refrigerator in November, it's not a bottle of Boulevard that tempts me. A carton of premium eggnog, however, is constantly calling my name.