Back in the day, I used to drink gin. Lots of it. This was during my undergrad years, after I’d gone through the 50-cent-draft-beer phase and the girly liquor phase (mostly rum), and long before I discovered the simpler, more subtle joys of vodka, wine, and really good beer.
Now, I don’t know how many of y’all are gin people, but lemme tell ya: Miss Tanqueray is a cruel, cruel mistress. You party with her more than a couple of times in a couple of hours, and the next thing you know, you’re waking up in the bathtub of a strange apartment sporting a fat black eye and the business end of a horse costume. In fact, there are vast expanses of my early 20s that I can’t remember at all, simply because I was going out every night and swilling g-and-t’s (i.e. gin and tonics, for those who’ve never tended bar) like H2O. Luckily for me–not to mention my friends and the howevermany millions of people who drive automobiles in this country–I put away the gin years ago, and I haven’t looked back.
Which is not to say that I don’t occasionally get tanked. I do. It’s rare, but I do. And when I do, I tend to kinda black out. The next morning, I’ll think back on the night before, and it’s like watching a slide show without my glasses: blurry, and somewhat unsettling. I just have to hope and pray that I didn’t do anything too embarrassing or offensive to anyone I know or anyone who works in the Mayor’s office (’cause you never know when you’ll need to call in a favor, I say).
I mention all this because in the not-too-distant past, I had one of those episodes, and for weeks, I’ve been biding my time. I haven’t specifically asked anyone for an account of my antics, I’ve just been waiting for fallout.
I’m happy to report that as of last night, I’ve seen everyone on my list who I might’ve offended, and they’ve all hugged my neck and given me a kiss like nothing happened. So, I must’ve behaved–something I didn’t always do when I was younger.
I’m becoming a genteel old fogey of a boozer. Even my downward spirals are dull and lifeless and uneventful, just like my hair. How depressing.
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