One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.

The line is a comic paradox about alcohol’s slippery arithmetic: moderation feels acceptable, a second drink crosses an invisible line into excess, yet once that line is crossed the desire for “enough” becomes unquenchable. Thurber’s humor turns on self-contradiction—simultaneously warning against overindulgence and confessing how quickly restraint collapses into craving. The martini, a symbol of urbane mid‑century sophistication, becomes a vehicle for a broader observation about appetite and self-control: pleasure is easiest to manage at the outset, but once intensified it rewrites the rules and makes “enough” recede.