I have a lot of drunken stories. It's inevitable when you go on as many nights out as I do. At some point soon I will dredge out the darkest corners of my memories where the drunken anecdotes usually go to hide and do one epic post on it.
You already know many of them if you've read my blog for any amount of time. Do you remember the time I ended up speaking to guy on facebook and agreeing to a date which I wouldn't normally have done while sober? Who I then the following day considered deleting my entire facebook just to avoid the situation? (In the end I just pretended it hadn't happened and it was never mentioned again.) Or the night I accidentally flashed the internet?
Then there was the night I had all of my colleagues on a night out searching for my phone when it was in my bra the whole time. And who could forget the time I managed to fall over with a bottle of wine in my bag... and it smashed. A wasted handbag is bad enough... add the wasted wine to that and it's positively a tragedy.
Anyway, this post has inadvertently turned into a flashback episode, like one of those cop-out episodes of "Friends". It wasn't meant to be. I was just going to tell you my latest one.
So on Friday night I was out with my boyfriend and his brother and sister-in-law. We were out for dinner, but there was some alcoholic beverages consumed beforehand, wine during the meal, and then it was still early when we left the restaurant, so we headed back to the original pub. There were many rounds of drink, to the point where I sensibly decided on a few occasions that instead of having a wine I would have a shot of sambucca instead.
(Okay "sensibly" is perhaps the wrong choice of word. BUT it made sense at the time.)
So eventually the pub was closing and we left. At which point, just around the corner from my flat, I was overcome with the urge to puke. (I have been puke-free since about July of last year so this was disappointing to me.) So I proceeded to do so on the street. Also a bit on my shoes. And also a bit on my boyfriend's shoes.
That is all fair enough and I'm pretty sure even the hardiest of drinkers amongst us has been in such a situation. What I DON'T understand is why I then decided to throw my snood (one of my favourite snoods at that!) on top of the pile of sick. My boyfriend says it happened in a split second, one minute I was wearing the snood, the next I had ripped it over my head and flung it on the ground.
Was it because I was angry I had been sick? Or had it ended up on the snood? Or was I simply trying to make the ground look pretty and distract from the mess I had just made???
Who the fuck knows anyway.
Did anything silly while under the influence recently???