Monday, March 03, 2008
I can has sum mac an cheez?
I once got invited to a dinner party where I was so revolted by the food that I just drank. And drank. Then some. Unfortunately it wasn't that kind of dinner party. It was the kind where you really have to behave yourself. I was dating someone maybe 10 years older than myself, and they were his friends. I'm famous for having demanded a cheeseburger in the Savoy (yes, seriously) so when presented with whatever sludgy bean nastiness had been oh so carefully stuffed into some green crap booze was the only option. Packet mac and cheese would have been manna from heaven. It was vile. They were old too. The hosts that is. My youngest sister had gone to school with their son. Don't underestimate the awfulness of it. From what I recall, which truly isn't much, the conversation focused on.... Actually I don't recall at all, I just drank some more.
I don't usually drink alcohol. I'm a horrible lightweight. It does bad things to me.
I could remember being at the table. The next thing I knew I was lying, flat on my back on the living room floor, missing the several hours in between. All conversation is gone from me, except the one, shining snippet of hideousness where I described, in hugely graphic detail to the man of the house what a daisy chain is. I was a hit with him. Somewhat less so with his wife.
I remember begging to be taken away. Literally begging.
Unfortunately, my date listened to my assurances that I was sober enough and took me to a party thrown by some of my friends. I drunkenly mock snogged a female friend. Or three. Fell over alot then I assume went home.
As I only found out about going to the party at all the following day when my date, rather frostily suggested things were over. And that I might like to seek help for my alcohol problem.