The first time I ever got drunk was in the local Woolworths car park at about 8.30 on a Saturday evening. I was 15 and meant to be at my friend’s house watching videos, instead we were knocking back a bottle of port and singing The Cure’s Love Cats. Also dancing.
I used to cringe at this memory until I met someone who told me they got spectacularly drunk for the first time on a bottle of Brandavino at the age of 13 and the next morning caught the bus into the city. Quite soon after his journey began, he decided that vacating the bus immediately was a matter of great urgency. He rang the bell, the bus stopped, he got off the bus and vomited like a geyser by the side of the road. When he finished, he turned to find the bus, full of patient Saturday morning passengers, waiting for him. After a slightly awkward pause he wiped his mouth, got back on the bus, returned to his seat and continued on his way.
I ended up marrying him.
Losing our last chance embryo was almost shockingly upsetting, considering the yes but, no but sensations I had been experiencing leading all the way up to the transfer. Even so, receiving the news necessitated a certain response. That afternoon I ate a large meal of Not Recommended For Ladies Up The Duff sushi and followed that up with a Not Recommended For Ladies Attempting Or Achieving Up The Duffness latte and during the evening I enjoyed a Severely Frowned Upon glass of wine for the first time in what seemed years but was in fact a few fraught weeks.
The following day I had another latte but this time requested a double shot of espresso. That night C and I drank a bottle of champagne and two bottles of wine with our live in-in laws. I also ate some soft cheese and a piece of smoked salmon.
Following this trajectory I believe I shall be snorting coffee straight from the grinder and washing down my crack cocaine and raw meat fritters with a good slug of goon in the Woolies car park, by this weekend.
Because I am no longer a teenager and this is not the eighties I shall not be singing and dancing to Love Cats. It’s possible though that I may quietly hum the chorus.
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9 comments:
Ah yes, the post-disappointment indulgences. . . I probably shouldn't admit this, but upon being discharged from my emergency D&C, I went home and had a shot of tequila before crawling into bed for a day.
Hum away.
I, too, must admit, since our last chance at a sibling for lil'mooey failed, I've been sucking back the booze big time.... 'Tainted love' would probably be my 80's song of choice.
Cheers!
Sounds like a pretty natural reaction to the damn BFN. Please chug a few for me.
Oh, and please rethink this before picking up that crack pipe! ;)
Letting off a bit of steam has to be the right thing to do, you don't want it all pent up inside. Maybe the live-in in-laws could babysit Tricky, so you and C could go out for the night?
Goon? Apart from that and the crack it sounds like a good plan.
Ah yeah, this all sounds horribly familiar. When we were trying I'd join Breda on the wagon for solidarity - and when it failed we'd fall off together as well. The trouble is all of the forbidden foods and the long-awaited drinks leave nothing but a bitter and sour taste in the mouth. It's just shity and all the good stuff in the world is hollow comfort. I'm really sorry for you, C and Tricky.
I'd love to catch up when you get to Perth. Breda and the kids arrive in July as well so we'll just be finding our feet and a friendly face would be nice to see.
It sucks when the family you'd envisioned does not come to fruition. I'm really sorry that you are having to deal with this end to your dreams. I so very badly wanted a different ending.
Coffee snorting sounds like a good plan though!
Sorry about your disappointment. I don't think you have "failed" your son by not producing a sibling this time around. My husband has two brothers and none of them speak to one another. They haven't deigned to communicate for years and years. My very good friend has two sisters and a brother. Loathing is not too strong a word for their feelings for each other. i know many people who intensely dislike their siblings.
The fantasy of rosy cheeked toddlers tumbling gleefully together in the garden, growing up to be closer than close is just that - a fantasy.
I am very glad to be a singleton. My son is very glad to be a singleton. We have friends and cousins when we want the companionship of peers. Siblings, in my opinion are overrated.
Brandavino, now that brings back memories. I've been chasing a bottle (to give to a friend as a joke from the past and to incorporate the label in a painting I'm doing)but the people at the bottle shops tap on their screens and suggest I check the Italian Fine Wine aisle, which obviously shows they know nothing of Brandavino.
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