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| Not Drunk |
You know how everyone has their own stories that they aren’t too proud to talk about? Drunken calls and messages, a huge brainfart that caused you to do or say something that you wouldn’t have ever dreamt of doing in a sober mode, things like that.
To give you an idea of what you can expect in this blog post, here’s this one-liner:
I can’t drink for shit.
My man knows that, and I know that very well even though I am in denial about it sometimes.
2 years back when I first touched alcohol, it was just Somersby’s Apple Cider. I loved the taste, what with it being sweet and all. I remember looking at the label and going, “It’s just 5% alcohol. No big deal. I’m sure it’s going to be just fine.” Mad confidence and shit.
Next thing I knew my face was red like an apple and I was making exaggerated movements.
“My heart’s beating really fast. Am I going to die?”
“It’s getting really hot. Can you check if I have a fever?”
“*loud laughter* Wait whaaaaaaat HAHAHAH”
I definitely felt that alcohol-induced lowered inhibitions, to say the least.
Fast forward to that party when I have apparently drunk almost one bottle of red wine as a result of losing quite a lot in this card game thing I was playing. I was telling my boy I was fine, then flopping around to prove just how fine I was feeling.
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| First party thing we went to. |
“Why are body movements going more than I intended? I wanted to move my arm here *flings arms* but LOOK IT’S LIKE GOING MORE” I insisted that I wasn’t drunk because I was still conscious of what I was doing.
To prove THAT, I sobered up the second my mum called me phone. I picked it up and had a very sober-talk with my mother for like one full minute before collapsing back into a useless sack of alcohol-infused potato afterwards.
“See, I was NOT drunk.”
He wanted me to hold his dart case for him while we were both sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, and I put my hand out to hold it like I was supposed to. Then suddenly, the duration of which I was supposed to hold it for became of crucial importance. The exchange went like this:
Boi: Bee, hold this for me please.
Me: *holds, starting intently at the dart case*
Me: … For how long?
Boi: *looks at me*
Boi: Never mind. *takes it back out of my still-outstretched hand*
Boi: … Put your hand down..?
Me: *literally lets my hand just flop down, slamming onto the wooden floorboards*
Me: aaaaaAAAHHHH *baby whining voices*
Boi: Baaaaaabeee *facepalms*
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| Aftermath of first party attended. He was just asleep though. |
Meanwhile my man was sober as fuck. At another party like that, he drank a mug-shot of straight vodka, with ice and watermelon cubes and was fine afters. No sluggish talk, no tipsy laughing or anything like that.
In fact, he held a 7-second handstand.
Wait let me just stop here to let you guys know this important piece of information about my man.
I think he’s secretly a chameleon.
While the more normal ones of us would turn red after alcohol consumption, my man turns red first, then he somehow turns… darker??? And afterwards he turns a shade or two paler than his normal skin tone before recovering. No, I don’t understand either. I really don’t, even if I studied biology.
Then there’s this other time, way before I even knew he existed on this planet. Some people drunkenly try to hit on chicks or run into a wall, but not my man. He’s special.
He was in a club at said time.He was in a club at said time.He was in a club at said time.
You got to say important things thrice. Now try to imagine all sorts of drunken shit one can be up to while being physically located in a night club – girls, music, dance floor, more alcohol. Just imagine.
Done?
Okay. My man did not ask girls for their number, nor did he take his shirt off to dance all weird. Instead, he found some space in that club, and he did a backflip, just like a normal drunken person would. He’s good. *laughs*
Now, there’s going to be another party this week. He probably won’t drink at all if he was going to have to drive, but let’s see what happens.
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