My brother called me over the weekend. It was unusual, because he’s not very chatty and usually can’t stand to be on the phone. Once I realized what time it was, did I remember that he was probably out drinking.

When I answered, my hypothesis was confirmed. He was out celebrating a raise he got at work. He sounded really happy, and I, in turn, was thrilled for him. Out of all the family drama, he is the most easy-going and the least likely to stir up trouble. He’s pretty much the only call I take from family at all these days.

When I was still in contact with the rest of them, I was always the go to choice for familial drunk dialing. At first I was flattered, being called so frequently during what sounded like a good time. After a while, it began to wear on me.

Drunk dials are hard to get out of. Once a relatively sober person’s patience wears thin, it triggers a process of trying to get a word in edgewise. Then I have to come up with an excuse. Usually, the old cell battery dying or I’m watching a movie excuse will do the trick.

I feel badly about it most of the time. But unless someone is calling me with vital or emergency information, I’m not really in the mood to entertain drunk people. Especially since I stopped doing it myself.