It turns out that there is little more sobering than drunkenly catching sight of your reflection whilst dressed as Rudolph, in the middle of January. “Reindeer”, I slurred at my alarmed flatmate, as I stumbled though the door, clutching my antlers, “are the designated drivers of Santa.” I paused while I (unsuccessfully) attempted to squint hard enough to make the world stop spinning. “They really should not be allowed to drink.”
Drunk as I was, I did have a point. If 2011 taught us anything it is that intoxicated members of the cervine family are enough of a liability without a Private Pilot License to boot.
The whole evening was, needless to say, really quite embarrassing. Apart from my ‘eureka!’ moment concerning the drinking habits of caribou, I remember very little other than calmly repeating the phrase, “I am so drunk” for the entire duration of the party. I may have watched 500 Days of Summer once I was home, which would explain a fuzzy memory of serenading my TV screen with The Smiths. I also have a feeling that I ate an alarming amount of cheese savouries. None of these images fill me with confidence. I am thirteen years too young to be Bridget Jones already. So, in the spirit of health and dignity (plus being a more responsible reindeer) I decided to swap my swizzle sticks for carrot sticks and attempt permanent sobriety.
A zero alcohol policy – while whole-heartedly welcomed by my heart, brain, stomach, skin, lungs, liver and kidneys – is going to make life slightly less amusing and a lot more scary. While holding a glass of wine, a cosmopolitan or really big bottle of vodka I am safe from any social situation that might remove me from my comfort zone. Dancing like an idiot, for instance, is perfectly fine, especially in front of potentially-scary important people. So what if they don’t laugh at your jokes, or remember your name? As long as I keep hold of my chosen beverage, I can float above these petty worries like an over-sized, over-dressed butterfly. I needn’t even drink it: so long as I hold on I am fearless in the knowledge that I may take a graceful sip at any would-be awkward lull in conversation – or simply throw it in the face of my new acquaintance should they become too tedious.
I jest. But as someone who has a history of throwing drinks over people (mainly through a total lack of coordination rather than a diabolical quest for revenge) perhaps I should avoid arming myself so dangerously. This is a sad revelation. Not only will I be losing my one-shot ego boost: I will be losing my favourite accessory. Look how well my cosmo compliments my outfit! It matches my lipstick, for god’s sake!
Back away slowly from the crazy sober lady, boys and girls.