So I ordered a Coke at a trendy L.A. cocktail bar the other night.

Just a Coke.

And apparently that now qualifies as an act of civil disobedience.

The woman next to me immediately locked in and went, “Oh, are you doing a Dry January?”

Before I could even laugh, she launched into a full TED Talk about how she did Dry January last year and how it was “life-changing.” Super rewarding. Very brave. A real Lewis and Clark situation.

Then she pounded the rest of her Old Fashioned like it owed her money.

Now, the part of my brain that specializes in sarcasm—and it’s a large department—was ready to go nuclear. But she was attractive and clearly into bourbon, which in my world still translates to “potential long-term mate.” So instead of being myself, I tried honesty.

I told her I find it morally reprehensible that chichi bars like this charge seventeen dollars for a Cuba Libre. And that I choose to register my disapproval by smuggling in rum from home.

Then I patted the flask in my jacket and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to fix this Coke properly in the men’s room.” Because nothing screams boyfriend material like announcing you’re about to play mixologist next to a urinal.

When I got back she was gone. Just… vanished. Like she saw a red-flag parade forming and sprinted for the exits.

Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised. The second she started bragging about Dry January, I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work. Because we all know these people.

“Oh look at me, I don’t need to stop drinking, I just choose to.”

“I ruck.”

“I journal in a Moleskine.”

“I wear T-shirts with slogans no one understands.”

“And I pronounce ‘BarTHelona’ with a Castilian lisp even though I’m about as Spanish as a Hot Pocket.”

Give me a break. And not from drinking, thank you very much.

Here’s what the self-righteous Dry January crowd doesn’t understand: if the universe ever forced us to stop drinking for a month, January would be the absolute worst possible choice.

First of all, the holiday weight. Don’t think about it. Just go out drinking instead, where you’re surrounded by low-calorie vodka and people wearing magically slimming booze goggles. Problem solved.

Second, sports. NFL playoffs. College football championship. Basketball. Hockey. The Winter X Games, which is literally a bunch of lunatics hurling themselves off icy cliffs yelling, “Hold my beer!” How are you supposed to enjoy that without holding a beer?

And it’s cold. You know what warms you up? Booze. That’s science. That’s why St. Bernards carry barrels of brandy. No one trained them. Pure instinct. They see a frozen idiot in the Alps and go, “Here. Drink this. Don’t die.”

And while I don’t have hard data on how many lives were saved by St. Bernards with brandy, I feel confident saying it’s more than zero. Which is already more than green juice can claim.

Still not convinced? Have you seen the state of the world lately? I’m pretty sure we’ve reached a point where sobriety counts as a human rights violation.

If you must take a break, at least pick a useless month. Like May. May is the filler episode of the year. Nothing happens in May. Spring’s over. Summer hasn’t started. It just sits there, taking up space. Except for Memorial Day—and National Lumpy Rug Day, which anyone celebrating has no business ever being sober.

And don’t kid yourself, going dry makes things weird. Your friends either say, “Wow, that’s the best decision you’ve ever made,” which translates to, “You were a nightmare drunk and we’re relieved.” Or they torment you relentlessly, dangling drinks in front of you like a steak in front of a starving dog. Except the steak is a margarita. And the dog is you.

Look, there’s nothing wrong with taking a break from booze. I once went almost three weeks without drinking. Granted, I was in a medically induced coma, but still. And I didn’t feel the need to tell anyone about it. Or feel anything, really.

That’s the point. If you’re gonna do it, just do it quietly. Don’t make it your personality for a month. No one wants to hear about your heroic battle against cabernet.

And you definitely don’t want people thinking, “Man… you were a lot more fun in a coma.”