If you have read this blog before, you would have noticed
that I frequently talk about how I am mostly introverted and always happy to
play board games, eat and watch TV series (occasionally movies). This is all
true. Which of course means I am not a capable drinker and probably should not
practice the sport. Definitely should not practice the sport. Nonetheless, my
housemate and best friend just returned and, in a way, made it her night’s
mission to test my gin threshold the past weekend. And we had fun, the gin was
good, the tonic too. The next day? Not so much. And, much in a Carrie Bradshaw
fashion, this made me wonder. Why do people do this to themselves?
There are a couple of obvious answers. One, it is pleasant
to be tipsy, which is why people begin drinking in the first place. Two, once
people are tipsy they want to drink more and are no longer accountable for that
decision. But I don’t think tipsiness can be fun enough to counteract how awful
the next day is. Maybe tipsiness is too light an adjective for five generous
gin and tonics and a negroni, but it wasn’t meant to be that many! It became
that many because of tipsiness! All I am saying is tipsiness is to blame.
Anyway, the next day was everything that’s bad; from a splitting headache, to a
much-more-complicated-than-usual digestion, to an inexplicable exhaustion, to a
very specific suspicion that you constantly demanded that the DJ plays a folky
Greek song that admittedly did not fit anyone else’s mood.
Another thing that does not help, is being a hypochondriac.
Another thing that does not help is being a hypochondriac that hasn’t drank
that much since eighteen. Within a spectrum of five minutes I decided I would
die, I would need a new liver, I would never drink again, I caught a cold, I got some sort of brain damage
that results in swearing a lot, I would become paralysed and I caused my skin
some irrevocable pimples because I didn’t take all of my make up off (I did
take most off, which I am very proud of). And all these things? In that order!
And all of them? Dealt as if they were of equal importance! Two days later, I
realise I was obviously overreacting and if these were likely, nobody in
England would live past the age of 21. Or have good skin.
After a considerate amount of whining to my housemate, who,
by the way, was absolutely fine and did a tour of London on foot, I fell for a
three-hour nap. And just when I thought that indicated some calmness and that
the paranoia was over, I wake up in a shudder that I was sure was a heart
attack. You know, those heart attacks that 25 year olds get in their sleep 15
hours after they drank alcohol. It did take me a couple of seconds to remember
that I was dreaming of a very pleasant Super Mario game and realising that I
probably just fell or was attacked by a Goomba.
I really don’t think it’s worth it. I mean, we had a great
time, probably created some memories, I mean quite a few of them are now lost,
as you may have guessed. But what if this experience means I will never be able
to drink gin again? I won’t for a while; you are put off certain liquids once
you have seen them so… processed. I don’t know if I am ready to give up gin, it
is such a cool drink with such a low calorie count. And I am such a huge fan of
cucumber water, and with gin I can have it concealed in a drink! This is what
this whole blog is about, my fear of losing gin.
Anyways, some things I learned is that once your stomach has
settled, bananas are good and ‘Five Guys’ burgers are even better. Will update
on the gin situation.
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