It seemed like only yesterday: I was on a blind date with a friend-of-a-friend. She'd described him as "cute, successful, the total package." He was all that and chivalrous, too, rising from his bar stool when I arrived and asking if he could get me a drink. "Oh, just a seltzer," I said. Though he was already nursing a vodka drink, he didn't flinch at my response. But before we'd even finished the appetizers, his two vodkas had turned into four, and by the time dinner arrived, he was slurring his words. In my old life, I probably wouldn't have noticed — I might have kept up with him. But when you're sober, spending three hours with a guy who keeps trying to hang his jacket on the hook under the bar while he's still wearing it is torture.