I’ve been putting off writing this particular post for a really long time, simply because I never wanted to make it public knowledge. However, after several hours of idly Facebook stalking my friends back home, I have discovered that all of the photo albums from that day are named in such a way that reveals this dreaded secret for all to see and laugh at. So, here goes.
It was my 20th birthday. I was putting the finish touches on my outfit and was texting my housemate, Tara, who was round at my friend’s house organising stuff for pre-drinks. She insisted that I wait another half hour before going round to the house (their house was a lot bigger than our four-bed shoebox, and we figured, after the Poo in the Bath incident, that it was a wise decision to not go down that road again), and with growing frustration and lack of alcohol in our own house, I began to get restless.
Eventually I was permitted to head round, and upon my arrival, I discovered banners, balloons and various other birthday decorations all around the house. This instantly made me happy, but then I noticed the various, hideous pictures of me that had been taken from Facebook and chosen especially for my humiliation. This did not make me happy, and I decided almost immediately that I needed alcohol. Right on cue, my friend Oli (whose house it was) enters with a coloured shot-glass in hand.
“Gin-gin!” he exclaims, his smile broad as he hands it to me. It’s a known fact that I cannot stand the taste of gin, but I take on look at the photo of me in the rain at Bisley Shooting Range and down the bastard in one.
Now, anybody that has ever tasted gin before will know that it leaves a memorable burning sensation as it travels down your oesophagus. It’s hard to miss, and it’s why I don’t like gin. However, this time, it did not occur. In anticipation of the painful burning, I’d simply taken the shot in such a way that I didn’t taste it, it simply went straight down my throat. The absence of the burning alarmed me, and I was instantly suspicious. “That wasn’t gin”. I said, and Oli simply laughed.
“What? Of course it was gin!” he responded.
“No, it wasn’t. What did you just give me?” I looked down at the shot glass which was still in my hand. “Dude, seriously, what did you just give me?” I was convinced I was being tricked into drinking some foul substance, until Oli’s expression changed to mere confusion. “Are you sure?” he asked, as he headed into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of London Dry he’d used to pour my shot. Tara followed him, unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. She almost vomited. She turned to me with a shocked and disgusted look. “What?!” I asked hysterically, my worse suspicions slowly becoming reality before my eyes. Oli then poured the mysterious liquid into a glass….
It was cloudy and yellow.
My eyes widened, my stomach flipped and my subconscious pointed and laughed hysterically. By this time, all of our friends had followed us into the kitchen. My friend Tom approached the bottle with caution, took a sniff and he instantly knew. My friends began looking at me for confirmation, but everybody knew what had happened. “Did she…did she just…??!” but before anyone could say it out loud, I ran outside to throw up.
I actually held it down, surprisingly. As I said, I hadn’t tasted it, it had gone straight down my throat. It was simply the thought of it working its way through my digestive system that knocked me sick to my very core. My friend James let me use mouthwash and a toothbrush to nuke out my mouth and rid my taste-buds of any remnants (Got to be honest, even writing about it now is making me feel very nauseous) and as I re-entered the kitchen, emotions were thick in the air. Me? I was going through the five stages of grief.
First comes Shock and Disbelief: “WHOA WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!? That wasn’t gin, man, THAT WASN’T GIN! “There’s no way, there’s no way that just happened”.”
Second, Isolation: “Oh god, don’t look at me…*runs outside*
Third, Anger: “Who the HELL uses a bottle of London Dry to PISS in and then PUTS IT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD?!?”
Fourth, Depression: “Why me?? Waaaaaah”
Fifth, Acceptance: “I think I’m gonna be sick…”
I proceeded to get drunken than I had ever been before, and rightly so I feel. I also begged my friends not to make it public knowledge. It was already on three social networking sites.