Lots of people kick off the new year with a locked liquor cabinet. Great, good for them. My issue is not with their beverage choices, but with the imprecise language they so freely use to describe this development. They call it “dry January.” That’s odd, since water is wet. So is coffee. And tea. And juice. And yes, Arnold Palmers. You see, “dry January”, while admirable is tragically incomplete.
What’s so hard about sticking to solids for a single month? It might have some lasting consequences, but it will show everyone you know that you’re deadly serious about linguistics. A dry January should encompass more than what you consume. It should be an attitude, as well as a way of life.
I am expecting large deliveries of commercial grade sand, playground wood chips, and exceedingly long grain rice. These are the hallmarks of a dry month, not the abstention of beer and wine at an industry happy hour.
I don’t want to hear any jokes that are understood after the first utterance. Wit, like a new raincoat, must be dry, too. Dry cleaning, but no washing. That includes underwear and dishes. Soups are off limits as well.
Still thirsty and in need of a workaround? Bite into a fresh cactus and thank me in February.
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