Shots ruin lives

February 7, 2014 § 6 Comments

Last night was karaoke night at an Irish pub the ex-pats frequent, so I of course was one of the first there. My friends were terribly late in true Italian style, but I knew Englishman was going to be there with a friend of his I knew, so while I waited for the tone-deaf assault that was headed in my general direction, we had a few drinks. Englishman’s friend, we’ll call him ‘the millionaire’ (a slight over-estimation, but he does incredibly well for himself) was about to leave the country to start a new job, so was hell-bent on having a good night and bought us all sambuca shots to accompany the second round.

Being my light-weight-self, it wasn’t long before I was signing us up to do a Queen tribute, and dancing emphatically (while everyone else was still reasonably sober). After a rousing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, several glasses of red and a tequila slammer later and I was well and truly fucked.

Now, this was the first time I’d seen Englishman since his mature acceptance of the end to our brief dating spree, so I was a little worried it would be awkward. There was really no need as the shots began soon after arrival and there was no time allocated for unease. However, my drunken twin tends to become somewhat… randy. So after belting out the Freddy Mercury classic, I found myself grinding rather unacceptably on the millionaire. Drunk as I was, I thought he was a safe bet because I knew he was in a fairly serious relationship and assumed this was all just harmless fun. As you’ve probably already deduced, this was not so.

I don’t want to stereotype an entire nationality, but I’ve been warned that the Italians don’t set much score by monogamy. This thought should really have entered my head before his tongue entered my mouth, but alas, all too late. Upon realising what was happening, I picked up my things and scurried from the bar, too embarrassed to say goodbye to my friends, especially Englishman.

I’m surprised I managed to walk, let alone get myself on a bus that went home, but somehow I ended back at the apartment at around 2am. Feeling very sorry for myself the next morning (whoever came up with 7am starts should be hung, drawn and quartered), I found a flurry of misspelt apologetic texts to Englishman, who I then texted again to repeat myself, but slightly more coherently. When I didn’t hear back from him for a few hours I assumed the worst. One of my only friends here and I’d fucking blown it. Why do I drink?! SHOTS RUIN LIVES.

But to my surprise, when he did finally reply he wasn’t angry at all, in fact he’d found the evening rather funny. He said my only regret should be missing his slurred rendition of Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’, which I’m very sad I didn’t get to see, but unbelievably glad he seemed OK with everything.

You know you’ve found a true friend when you’re forgiven that quickly. Watch out Englishman, I shan’t be letting you escape anytime soon!


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