Ooooooooh holy shit. What did I do? What did I say? It’s that misty haze over your brain, that cocktail of over-confidence and over-trust that comes with being a happy mood from intoxication. I know that Drunk Me has no control over what I say, like many of you may have experienced, and that becomes a sometimes hysterical/sometimes mortifying problem…
As some of you may be aware from previous Humpdays, I'm part of a family that's pretty open about sex. We aren't shy about our experiences, and inappropriate phallic jokes are rife in our household. However, within the confines of your four walls are far different from the outside world, as Drunk Me has discovered many a time.
The weekend just gone we had a family gathering. A rather large family gathering with lots of alcohol available in all shapes, spirits and alcohol volumes. I am prone to a good rose wine; it always promises me an interesting night of emotions and laughter in the company of good people. But that's the key factor that influences my drunken blabber mouth: being with good people. Good people that are close to me. Therefore in my head, these people are so good, they should definitely hear all of my embarrassing stories, including the sexual ones… What could possibly go wrong?
First, there’s telling my great aunt about someone I once dated who had a mushroom-shaped penis because it was topical. Of course, she was talking about growing actual mushrooms and other vegetables in her allotment, so perhaps penis could’ve stayed out of the conversation.
Then there was a joke said about people with ginger hair. Now I have been out with a couple of red heads, one of them as a long term relationship, so I have been privy to all existing ginger jokes. So I bumble in with another joke about how they're spicy in the bedroom. For some reason, I don’t think that one landed as well as it did in my head.
Finally (and this is the best one which proves the saying), I was in the garden with my grandad having a cheeky social cigarette and he asked if I spoke to my most recent ex very often, so we chatted about him for a bit. Next thing you know, I have full on admitted that I actually slept with my ex a couple of times after we broke up. Not only was Sober Me horrified that I'd just admitted this to my sweet old grandad, but another blast hit me when he said that he'd already guessed and so had my nan, and they had already laughed over it in their own conversations. Well, I’m glad that my sex life can be a source of joy and amusement to them.
As much as keeping my grandparents amused (even by the strangest of means) is great, I think in future it's safer for me to stick to beer and keep my mouth shut. Perhaps beer will induce my inner conversationalist, the one that doesn’t involve sex and genitalia. Plus, beer will definitely be sending me to the bathroom more often, so I won’t even be around people long enough to tattle any drunken nonsense. Every cloud.
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