Men and alcohol

I was meaning to write something here for some time and was sort of inspired by a previous post in this blog. My topic: Drunken men from the sober persons perspective. (Don’t get me wrong, im not a crazy feminist type who’s about to start ranting on about how useless men are, how they drink too much, how they don’t do anything around the house… no, really I’m not!) Seriously, I thought I’d share this because it’s too funny to let the opportunity pass by.
To set the scene, I was having a quiet Friday evening in by myself, watching a fairly decent film, while my other half (on this occasion I am somewhat reluctant to call him my ‘better’ half) was out galavanting with his colleagues.
Ten minutes before the end of the film I hear the door open, followed by the clatter of keys being dropped on the floor, an incomprehensible but angry-sounding exchange of words between boyfriend and keys, a burp, a fart, and ten seconds later he appears before me, grinning like a Cheshire cat and stinking like a brewery. It is apparent that he is very, very drunk. He tells me a story about a dinosaur he met during the day. “Uh-uh?” I say. He accuses me of not listening to anything he says, and that I am being disrespectful. I realise my attempts to understand anything more of the film are futile so I switch off the TV and try to appear interested. If anyone was watching this spectacle they would see that in the space of five minutes a drunken boyfriend has the ability to reduce me from sophisticaticated, wine-drinking, arty-film-watching intellectual to complete raving lunatic in less than five minutes. I’m asking ridiculous questions so that he won’t get upset with me. ME: “What’s the dinosaur’s name?” HIM: “Bjorn!” ME: “Where does he live?” HIM: “On top of the printer!.”

“Do we have food?” he asks, after a while.
“No”, I reply. “We are going shopping tomorrow, remember?”
He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the fridge door squeak open.
“We don’t have any food!”
“No”, I repeat. “We are going shopping tomorrow”
He staggers to the bathroom, shedding his clothes in various locations en route, then proceeds to stare at himself for a long time in the mirror, and asks “Am I more yellow than usual?”
I tell him he is not, he seems reassured by this, and then makes a naked trip into the kitchen to check that the fridge hasn’t replenished itself during his momentary absence. Surprisingly it has not. “We should do some shopping sometime” he says. “Maybe tomorrow, darling?” I reply. But sarcasm is wasted at this point.

He finally comes to bed, and talks more utter nonsense for a while. Bjorn the dinosaur, it seems, is more than just a ‘regular’ dinosaur; he is also a symbol of power and a lesson to people to stand up. I never found out why, because my dear boyfriend finally dropped into a state of unconsciousness. But not before he delivered this final speech which will leave me pondering for the rest of my life.

HIM: So… there’s no… alcohol-induced… acceptance of responsibility here, is there?

ME: Where?
HIM: Oh, come on… EVERYWHERE!

ME: Responsibility for what?
HIM: The fake stuff. And… the things that people put in the things… but they actually don’t.


Go figure
Until the next time!