…and The Girlfriend said, “Hurl!”

5 03 2008


I’ve been planning to write about this for a while now, but only just got around to doing it. It’s about the very first time my girlfriend got actually drunk. (Girlfriend, I won’t tell them the whole story. You’re welcome.)

It all started out as a bit of curiosity on my part. She had seen me drunk on at least one occasion, and yet, even on New Year’s, she wouldn’t get past the “Little Bit Tipsy” stage. I thought, in the spirit of fair play, that we should get drunk together and have a grand old time. That way, since I knew we’d be together for a good long while, I could be prepared for later events in life, like when my constant pessimism turns her into a raging drunkard.

We went out to a local McDonald’s to eat early that night, on the grounds that it was close to the liquor store, and pretty cheap, to boot. From said liquor store, I had procured one small bottle of Seagram’s gin, one can of maraschino cherries, and one little squeezy fake lime thing. All told, I spent about twenty bucks.

Now, The Girlfriend doesn’t like beer, but has a taste for wine. Being an experienced drunkard, I know that overindulgence in wine can lead to the most god-forsaken hangovers anyone could ever experience. She wasn’t sure if she liked gin, but I was reluctant to just shove her into Brown Liquor Land just then. Also, I hate the taste of vodka, so that was out. So, Seagram’s it was.

At the house, we had a few little gin-and-Sprite mixers at the kitchen table, a little conversation, and some laughs. I’m a fair and decent bartender, so I mixed them pretty moderately. The Girlfriend, with her incessant curiosity, decided that she wanted to find out what gin tasted like by itself. I thought this a rational, natural desire.

Of course, I didn’t plan on her slugging down about five shots’ worth at once, which she did twice.

Flash forward, twenty minutes later: Still at my kitchen table, I had been relegated to drunk-sitting duty, not always the most pleasant of tasks. Either way, I made the best of it, and found most of it quite amusing. After a while of her falling out of her chair and feeling dizzy, I suggested that she try to eat the rest of her McDonald’s burger. She found this idea to be repugnant, and went off to bed feeling pretty squeamish.

I went back to the bedroom to check on her, not fifteen minutes later. She lay more or less asleep at a relatively normal angle on the bed. The noise of my entry into the room woke her, and we spoke briefly:

HER: “What time is it?”

ME: “It’s, uh, nine-forty-five. PM.”

HER: “Oh.”

I sat down on the couch near the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. However, The Girlfriend had imbibed too much gin to simply lay back and relax. She warned me that she felt ill, and attempted to lay back down. Within seconds, she was up again, asking in a thick voice for a bag , or something, to throw up.

ME: “Oh, Jesus.”

HER: “Hurry, I–”

And then it happened: the drunk-girl hurl. Conveniently, the little cardboard box my puppy came in–and called home–was located right in her path.

To her credit, she managed to save both of his toys, and not hurl on any of my things.

I held her hair back as she evacuated some things, and she cried a little. Apparently, girlfriends don’t like boyfriends to see them puke. I think it’s an important step in any relationship, but I’m not anybody’s girlfriend.

She went to the kitchen to brush her teeth, with my assurance that no one was in the house. Upon arriving in said kitchen, she was heard to remark:

“Aw, crap.”

Because of the presence of my brother and step-father, both of whom then heard the whole story as The Girlfriend attempted to make conversation. It did not go swimmingly.

The next day, she felt fine and dandy, as usual. What little embrassment from the night before seemed to be more or less forgotten, since pretty girls just have that way of getting away with terrible things.

As penance for talking her into it, I got to take out her befouled box and burn it.

Well, that’s the (heavily abridged) story. Goodnight.




One response

5 03 2008

Now, it might be because I was, indeed, drunk, but what exactly did you leave out? Feel free to not tell me on here.

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