It’s when you go to a BBQ and find everyone else there is off the alcohol for various reasons, but you and your friends bring the wine and beersies
and everything’s fine until at some point in your evening you find yourself telling everyone about the fascinating story you heard on rural report on the radio that morning about how the size of a young bull’s testicles (only you’ve forgotten the word for bull so you say boy cow) determines whether it’s worthwhile giving him a go in the field that year or whether he should wait until next season to become a father*, and then your friend starts reminiscing about his drunken past exploits with the hostesses ex husband, that you think to yourself that maybe A) it’s time to go home, and B) maybe it’s time to look at your relationship with alcohol.
* a scrotal girth of 32 cm being the watershed