Drunk, but in safe hands.........

Out for the count... But who protects your dignity?

On Wednesday morning I woke up with absolutely no knowledge of how I got home, why I was still wearing my dress and where all my silver jewellery was. So I got up and tidied my room in search of clues. By 8.15am I decided to ring my best friend and find out what the hell was going on. The result was not pretty. The previous evening I had got so horrendously drunk, so mind numbingly intoxicated that my other best friend had to literally carry me into bed. This was a huge surprise to me, I felt fine and I was even dressed and ready to go to work at 9.30am.

By 11.00am I was dying. Literally I felt like my insides were melting and my head was going to explode. Not only did I have to contend with the hangover from hell, but I then had to hear the horror story of the night before. Smoking inside, singing out of tune and copious vomiting - yes I did it all in abundance. This is not a regular occurrence from me, apart from the singing out of tune part. I have to schedule in a hangover and do not have the time or the energy to re-grow my liver cells. The combination of lack of food and too much booze led me astray and I spent most of Wednesday paying the price. You may be wondering why I am choosing to share this embarrassment with readers of The Yorker - well I learnt an important lesson from my night of shame... thank God for friends.

Seriously, my mates could have easily left me unconscious or could have drawn on me in permanent marker. In true American Pie style they could have taken photos of me and posted them on Facebook or made videos of me in my incoherent state. They could have thrown me into a taxi and told the taxi driver my address. Instead they showed themselves to be true comrades, attempting to preserve what was left of my dignity whilst making sure I was not dying from alcohol poisoning. From what I can gather I was a drunken, stumbling, screaming nightmare and I put an unfortunate group of people through a two hour ordeal. Woops.

Now I feel guilty. Back in my second year I made a video of my housemate throwing up after her birthday party. I asked her various inappropriate questions in order to show her the next day, to laugh at her expense and royally take the piss. Last night I deleted the video and felt an incredible sense of shame that I had kept this incriminating evidence for so long. I have come to the conclusion that good friends are the ones who, even when you are sick on them, still love you enough to keep their mobile phones in their pockets. Even though I spend half my life bossing them around at dance rehearsals or warning them not to spend any more money they still seem to like me enough to hold my hair while I throw up.

I am not the nicest person in the world, or the smartest and I am certainly not the most sensible, but I have friends that are willing to go the extra mile. In my eyes that makes me incredibly lucky. I have lived through some pretty crazy stuff, I am mouthy, Brummy and occasionally obnoxious but I would do anything, absolutely anything for those friends who are able to look past all this. I genuinely believe that if you can count the friends you love and trust on one hand, you are lucky.

Friends are the family you get to choose, so choose wisely. OK, so my friends can now use the excuse “you threw up on me” for the rest of my life, but let’s face it, I completely deserve that.

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