A Lesson

On Wednesday my brother turned 21. I also finished my trials and put the finishing touches on my extension two project. It was a big day, so when mum cracked out the bottle of Moet, I had a glass (or three). I might add at this point that I had been stressed all day and not eaten anything, and also, despite being eighteen for five months, have never really had much to drink. Anyway, the three glasses I consumed in rapid succession soon left me giggling very tipsily. It was funny. I was enjoying myself. Fast forward to last night and my brother’s party. I only have one brother, and he only turns 21 once, so I decided that I would enjoy myself. One glass of champagne soon turned into three, and I remembered that three had been fun on an empty stomach, so I thought, hey, why not double it? 

Before long I was sobbing in the toilet, and soon after that I got sent home in minor disgrace (apparently crying lots and telling people you’re going to be sick [which I wasn’t, just fyi], does not exactly add to the party atmosphere). I was absolutely smashed, and it did not feel good at all (really, I don’t understand why people aim to end up in that state). 

Nobody had thought to tell me that champagne does funny things to your head. Nobody had thought to say, “hey, Georgie, champagne isn’t good to drink in excess, why don’t you try something else?”. No, they thought it would be funny to watch me consume an entire bottle and then proceed to forget everything that happened (I still remember the obviously gay bartender telling my mum I had been flirting with him. I am positive I was not.)


This morning, however, every single person in my house, and we had about fifty visitors throughout the day, told me champagne horror stories. They told me lessons about alcohol that: 
a) I should know because I am eighteen
and
b) They really should have told me when I started on the third or fourth glass last night
Everyone thought it was hilarious (except me, I just wanted to cry and sleep. I’m a fun drunk), and apparently watching eighteen year olds learn lessons about alcohol the hard way is one of the few joys fifty-somethings have left in life. 
One lovely friend of my mum’s let me know that her daughter did the exact same thing at her brother’s 21st, and it comforted me to discover I wasn’t alone in my bad decision making. 

When I woke up this morning, I freaked out because I couldn’t remember getting in my pajamas, and proceeded to have an argument with my mum after she told me she and her friend had come home and given me panadol. I was completely blanking on most of the events of the night before. It wasn’t a feeling I particularly liked, and I plan on staying away from alcohol for a while because I don’t particularly want to repeat it. It baffles me that there are so many teenagers who strive to get absolutely smashed every weekend. Maybe alcohol just doesn’t mix well with me, and it’s better for other people, but my cousin told me this morning that he once had a three day hangover, and come on, is it really worth it? 

What last night has taught me is that champagne can be fun, but when consumed in glasses and not bottles. It has also taught me that being drunk is not something I really ever want to be again, and that I am one of the least fun drunks in the world. Some may say I’m a lame teenager, but being sober is much more enjoyable (and you actually remember things about important events like your brother’s 21st birthday party). 

I will never be able to recount what exactly happened at my brother’s 21st, but I suppose I’ll have some funny stories to tell, and in the long run, that almost makes it worth it. 

frangipani princess xoxo

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