I thought I was hardcore. Turns out I am just a really fucking slow learner

Last night I was feeling all domestic and civilized and grown up and shit, so while I was making a FABULOUS dinner of deliciousness I cracked open a bottle of wine.

At 5pm.

I NEVER do that.  Wine is to be savored AFTER dinner and as a prelude to mummy and daddy time* not during the hell hour that is MPS going out to get takeaway while I fuck around on the internet meal prep time.

MISTAKE NUMBER ONE.

But as I mentioned above, I was feeling all grown up and shit and women in the movies crack open a bottle of wine while cooking nutritious meals for their loving family.

So clearly SO SHOULD I!

And I was hot and it was the only cold drink in the fridge.  I also chucked some ice in that motherfucker.

Like they do in the Real Housewives Of All of The Places.

MISTAKE NUMBER TWO AND THREE.

{the ice and the emulating stupid rich people}

Damn that went down well.  By the time dinner was ready I was pouring my third glass, but because it was full of ice it was totally like my FIRST glass.

This is the rationale in my head.  Stupid head.

And I was hot.

I continued to fill my glass alternating between delicious delicious wine and fabulously cold ice until it was pretty damn clear to everyone in the entire street and on the internet that I was rip roaringly drunk.

Pissed off my tits.

Fucking PLASTERED.

But, because I am clearly a moron, I kept drinking.

MISTAKE NUMBER FOUR.

Because I was hot.  And everything was just. so. fucking. funny.

By now MPS had rescued my laptop mouse from drowning in the footspa I was using to cool my feet and my friends had convinced me to NOT post tell all exposés of fellow bloggers for the shits and giggles and I had cracked open my second bottle.

And sent MPS out to get me some potato chips because I was DESPERATE for them.

MISTAKE NUMBER FIVE.

Now I should back up a little here and mention that I am on a medication for PCOS called Metformin.  Metformin DOES NOT TAKE TOO KINDLY TO ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, nor does it look favorably on excessive carb inhalation and did I mention the fabulous dinner I cooked consisted of chicken, veggies and herbed potatoes?

OH and I had forgotten to take the damn meds for like a WEEK OR TWO and had been slowly increasing my dose over the last few days to get back on track.

So lets recap.  One and a half bottles of wine.  Potatoes for dinner AND for a snack.  A liver that has just gone ‘Oh no you DIDN’T.’

But alcohol doesn’t count on a TUESDAY night. Right?

I don’t remember much of what happened next…

Will and Grace was on the TV.  And there were 2 of them.  DOUBLE EPISODE!

I was marveling on my ability to spell PERFECTLY and carry on two conversations on twitter at the same time. {I am too scared to go back and check the validity of this statement}

Apparently there was a grass fire down the road.

I didn’t feel so good.

And I started vomiting…

…MASHED POTATOES.  Like the kind you find in a fancy arsed restaurant but they call it something fancy but you know they just pushed those fuckers through a sieve and – in this case – added some wine.

I woke this morning feeling like death warmed up and dragged backwards through a hedge by the Mack Truck that just hit me after I was thrown from a building soaking wet.

I don’t remember getting into bed.

I don’t remember anything past marveling at the consistency of my pureed potato vomit.

And realising what I had done.  Again.

Clearly I am a slow learner.

*watching movies above a PG rating get your mind out of the gutter where I met my husband.