Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Booze Grinch
The worst thing about not drinking when pregnant isn't missing the alcohol itself, much to my surprise. (while my infatuation with chardonnay pre-baby knew no bounds, I've found absence actually makes the heart grow a little more distant.... and after 12 weeks I now regard the whole thing with a kind of detached nostalgia. Somewhat like looking back on those joints you smoked in uni - good times, as you kind of recall, but not something you're compelled to do again immediately).
No, the worst thing about not drinking, is being around people who are. Copiously.
And this time of the year, that's quiiiiite a frequent occurance.
I was the "designated driver" (another joyous perk of pregnancy) for my hubby and two other friends to a Foo Fighter's concert last weekend.
Things started out well: we were all boyant. Me naturally pumped up, and they with the aid of an esky full of "travellers", consumed on our 1-hour journey into the city. We sang along to Fooey's songs in the car and I laughed along to all the high-spirited jokes and jibes.
Cue the concert. Drinking by my companions continued with gusto, despite the highway robbery of $7 thimbles of beer at the venue. Several hours in, and this started to get to me... just a little. "Another one?" I said as hubby procured another $10 note from my purse. "Can't you wait until we get home?"
(this line of logic, of course, never applied when I was the one wasting $9 of a flute of champagne)
Later, it's 10.30pm and waaaaay past my bedtime. It's starting to show. The music's just becoming a bit repeditive now, our seats are crap and everything's beginning to bug me. This is the time that really seperates The Drinkers from The Non Drinkers. I could really have done with a nap right about then; on the other hand, my companions were up for an adventure.
"Let's go sneak in somewhere else," my hubby urged, and tiredly I complied, dragging my 3-months pregnant desperate-for-a-nap self down to the lower levels with them. Miraculously, we did find better viewing and actually spent quite a nice 45 minutes cuddled up with hubby on some stairs. That is, apart from when he's singing in my ear - LOUDLY. Oh, and grabbing my boobs and butt.
"Wow," he keeps saying, sloshing his beer; "The crowd here is AMAZING! Isn't this the BEST! Everyone's just so amazing!"
Not to dull your enthusisam, babe - but um, I don't really see it.
People jostle me.
A bloke takes off his shirt next to me, and gyrates his hips like it's a night club.
On an upper level two pissed chicks throw water from their water bottle down onto our heads.
My tolerance needle is inching towards the red.
Concert over, it's time for the drive home. Now I'm really, REALLY tired. Like, supersonically tired, in a way that makes me wonder if I'm actually safe to make it home. But make it I do, no thanks to the fools in the back (and front) seat, yahooing the entire way home, poking my seat and repeating themselves over and over. The main two questions are: "Did you have a good time?" and "Are you okay?" - neither of which I'm quite sure how to answer at this stage.
We deposit our friends at home and now, hubby wants to go to another party. It's 12.30pm and I think my brain might actually be seeping from my eyeballs, but I drop him off there. I'll spare you the conversation that went on enroute, and suffice to say, the tolerance needle passed the red, began making a loud ticking noise and started emitting smoke. I didn't attend the party, obviously :)
Ah, grinch much? But really, there's a certain point and then The Wall hits, and I definitely reached it that night. Why is it you don't realise how obnoxious people are when they're drinking until you're not? Was I really that annoying?
Ah well... bring on the next event!