You’re losing control: your face is looking a bit Munster-ish, your tongue isn’t polishing off those vowels quite as desired, and… well… people are starting to stare.

Dating Under the Influence. It should be a felony.

I’ve always loved my alcoholic beverages. I think it’s something to do with my Scottish heritage (or, at least, that’s what generations of us have blamed it on).

A Muslim best friend of mine dared me to give up alcohol for a month. I scoffed. And then I got scared. Very scared. What was he trying to insinuate?? How dare he!! I don’t need alcohol. Ever. Ok maybe one last Pornstar Martini before I say goodbye.

I didn’t notice until day 3. It was fine. Plus it was past 10pm so even if I was dying for red wine tannins there wasn’t exactly anything I could do about it.

Week 3. Out with friends. Guy Friend said he was bringing a guy along he wanted me to meet. Anyhoo- a huge party evening was about to go down and I was definitely planning on having a drink or 3. Then…

Guy Friend and New Guy arrive. Been sipping on the brewski’s at a braai all afternoon, and full of the merriments of discussing football, surfing and all that extremely important stuff. You know how boys get… tipsy, affectionate to other male members of their clan, and cheekier than a Brazilian bikini.

No worries mate. All good. I was on my first drink. The observant powers of sobriety are really a beautiful thing. Otherwise attractive, funny and smart men can progressively become ridiculously stupid.

10pm: Guy Friend, New Guy… robotic interpretive dance.

11pm: Guy Friend, New Guy… Ace Ventura impersonations.

11:45pm: New Guy. Attempt at conversation. Shame. I’m not that cruel. Like, give the guy a chance. Even if the speech is slurred and emphasis is placed on incorrect syllables, etc. I can even deal with the very unnecessary explanation on why he got divorced. And lucky I had a tissue handy. I didn’t even judge that he shed a tear. There there buddy, you’ll be ok.

Polite exiting the conversation to mingle and chat to other people…

1am: Girls and I getting ready to say our goodbyes. Hugs, etc. New Guy- obscene ass grab. Err. No dude. “But why!!! I thought you were coming home with me!” Did he? How so, precisely? Oh, must’ve been because I’m a girl and was within 5 metres.

2am: Me. In bed. Fast asleep. Rudely awoken by charming sms from New Guy:

“Got your number. You should’ve come home with me. Bed warm” *insert his address here*

Really? Like… really guy? How does that technique usually work for you??!

Aaaah. Dutch courage. Ain’t brave at all.


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