“While people are heading out on a Saturday night, I’m usually just in my dressing gown, staring into my fridge looking for answers”
I poisoned myself.
Unexpectedly, hubby and I ended up childless on Saturday night so we decided to join in with our Irish friends, celebrating a wedding.
I never go out so, I was pretty darn eager to enjoy my temporary freedom and therefore, may have been (definitely was) a little over enthusiastic with my bottle of vodka (and a bit stingy with the mixers).
Among the hype, conversation and general lack of having to give a shit about anyone else but me – I may have also neglected to have dinner.
I peaked too early. Way to early. Like, while it was still light outside and after realising promptly how white-girl-wasted I was, I convinced myself that if I took off the control-briefs I was wearing; I’d be just fine.
I wasn’t ready to call it a night considering the sun was still shining.
Trying to hold my shit together; I walked through the house pretending like I could still see straight and made my way out to the car to remove my restrictive underwear and sober up.
A short while later hubby came out and found me on the back seat of our family wagon with my legs flung over the babyseat; pants tangled up in my stilettos and me trying to tell him I just needed a little nap.
“I’ll be fine”
He disagreed, informed me that removing my restrictive undies wouldn’t save me now and took me home where I passed out on the lounge floor begging for a kebab.
I woke up at 4.22 the following morning in a world of pain.
I spent 3 hours on the bed unable to sleep, not knowing if I needed to spew or shit & too scared to try either because if I move I’m sure my house is going to flip upside down
Eventually I made a bed up on the bathroom floor and hugged the toilet bowl while googling “best cures for a hangover” hoping for a miracle – but the top answer was “being under 25” so I was shit out of luck.
I then threw up for a thousand hours while mentally bargaining with whatever powers-that-be to just let me hold down some water and I would never drink again. Regretting every decision, I had ever made in my life that had led me to this point; glad that my kids weren’t home while simultaneously wishing my kids were home because they would take my mind off this torture by giving me little kisses and breaking my stuff.
Enter my husband. Bathed in white light, wearing air max 90s and a halo, holding 3 different drink options & hiding a toddler behind his legs who was genuinely concerned at seeing me so unwell and demanded to know “why”. Anyone that has ever played the “why” game with a toddler knows why I suddenly felt like I was in a game of monopoly and someone just put a hotel on Mayfair.
What might have been 200 hours of suffering later (but was probably around 3pm); I made my way downstairs requesting pancakes. Finally, I was on the mend and swearing off vodka for the rest of my life.
And if you’re thinking I was just being irresponsible and binge drinking, it’s not true (or, you might be right – carpe diem etc) I was only out for 2 hours.
Mostly its because I just simply cant drink like that anymore. Despite what my subconscious might have thought, being child-free and wearing high heels dosen’t automatically make you the girl you were in 2005 – especially when you haven’t stayed out past midnight in the past 3 years. Lesson learnt.
While people are heading out on a Saturday night, I’m usually just in my dressing gown, staring into my fridge looking for answers and waiting for the kids to go to bed so I can eat chocolate without having to share.
When it comes to holding my liquor, I’m way out of practice because; mum-life.
And I’m cool with that.