*To the person who emailed me with concerns that I was making light of the problem of alcoholism: Now anyone who knows me will tell you about my struggles with several addictions over the years, of which alcohol is one. I have fought very hard to overcome my demons and I still bear the physical scars of that struggles. (quite literally but proudly, as a mark that I survived my ordeals and they were ordeals) I could go the serious route in writing about my past with alcohol, but this is a comedy blog and I choose to recount my story thusly. If it offends, please feel free to unfollow. But go with love in your heart and peace in your soul*.
Madam, your baby looks like Gollum Part Two.
I continued to drink until I met Chris, my first proper boyfriend. Here was a boy so beautiful and so stunning, that he could have only been fashioned from the loins of the gods and goddesses themselves. His hair the colour of ebony had obviously been woven from the threads of the midnight sky and spun into being by magical silkworms. And his body, so strong and so virile, carved from the marble pillars that adorned the chambers of an Elysium. Being the romantic sort, Chris offered that we go for a picnic. This was of course back in the days when picnics were a viable method of getting to know one other, long before opened mouthed kissing with random strangers on the dance floor of some innocuous night club, followed by a drink laced with rohypnol, became the preferred approach for meeting the love of one’s life.
At the park, the wind whispered through the autumnal leaves as we sat shading ourselves beneath the shadow of an old elm tree, when suddenly I was overcome by a wave of nausea. I had been out drinking heavily with friends the night before and the effects of my alcohol induced binge was staring to take it’s toll.
Over the coming years, drink continued to be my undoing.
And that wasn’t the end of it. I also puked on an ex whilst in the ‘on top’ coital position, wrestled a grown arsed man under the table in a pub and told a woman that her toddler looked like Gollum. Well it did!
Lola, with speech slurred: I’m not touching you.
Me trying to stop the room from spinning like a Ferris wheel: Yes you are, I can feel your clammy hands… eww, why are your hands so clammy? Perv.
Lola through gritted teeth: I am not bloody touching you.
Me through my drunken haze: Jesus Lola will you just stop!
Lola as if talking to the village idiot: Listen carefully Lil, I am not touching you. In fact, I am not even sitting anywhere near to you. I am remote, separated by space, far removed, out of shot, at a distance, over the bloody moon, anywhere except near you!
Me: OH MY GOD! WILL YOU STOP TRYING TO MOLEST ME!
Lola: I’M NOT MOLESTING YOU, YOU DUMB CRACK WHORE! HOW CAN I POSSIBLY MOLEST YOU WHEN I’M SITTING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BLOODY ROOM? HUH? TELL ME THAT HUH?? HUH??? HUH????
Me in a sudden moment of clarity and awe: With the power of your mind. (This part was whispered in wonderment)
Lola realising that I had become mentally unstable: What the fuck?!
Me having a sudden epiphany: Oh my god, you’re trying to mind rape me.
Lola, eyes now glowing with rage..maybe…I’m not sure as my own where closed. But I could feel the heat of her stare, therefore it stands to reason that they would be glowing…doesn’t it?: OK, obviously you didn’t hear me the the first time around when I said, WHAT THE FUCK??
Me, suddenly realising the dark truth: Oh I see it clearly now. All the time I thought we were best friends and all the time you just wanted me for my body…STOP MIND RAPING ME GODDAMMIT!!
Lola in resignation: I’m going home.
Me: Oh god, I can feel it, your imaginary hands roaming all over my body. Why Lola why?
Lola: Goodbye (Door slams as Lola exits)
Me: MIND RAPER!
I contacted Chris via Facebook a couple of years ago and was promptly blocked. Obviously the man is still traumatised by my mouth to mouth regurgitation, thus proving that alcohol can not only have a profound affect upon the individual but can also be detrimental for those around them.