Pop quiz – What’s your drinking curse?

You may not realise this, but every one of us is cursed. I will attempt to esplanade. The wicked fairy godmother came to our cots when we were wee sleeping bairns, and placed a curse on each and every one of us. A curse which will only emerge, revealing its wicked and evil cackling head, once we have imbibed well above the recommended 2 standard drinks per day. The curse, ye who be damned, of the drinking. What’s yours? If you don’t know, ask your partner or your bestie. They will be sure to tell you, in lurid, shameful, embarrassing detail. Here I’ll outline some of the more common profiles of the drinking cursed.

The singer

You’re in the bar. You spot the stage. You spot the microphone. You’re awesome. You need to be heard. You have songs to sing, of love, and loss. Of power, and glory. Oh yeah!  You reach the stage. You grab the microphone. It’s not karaoke night. It doesn’t matter. You’re in the moment. Reaching. Ever reaching. It must have be loooooove, but its oooover noooooow. Then falling. From the table.

This surely could not be me. It’s some random person called ‘Bride’.

The Lover/Flirt

A normal person by day, the curse turns this one into the ultimate seducer/seductress (in their own mind). Some do have remarkable skill, honed by years of practice, while others, blinded by the light, blink once, blink twice, and hope for words of grace and allure to slip forth from their gilded tongue. It sounds something like ‘blah blah me blor I me blor’. They shut up, and dance. They’re good. They’re really good. Nevermind that nobody can tell what good looks like anymore. Things start to look better for the lover.

Social warrior

A superhero without a cape, out to avenge the underdogs of the world and right the wrongs of the community, starting at a micro level, this cursed drinker needs EVERYONE to be on board. Are you listening? Are you? That’s ok. I’ll tell this person instead. OH NO! That poor guy is over there with his undies hanging out and hat on. He’ll NEVER get a girl looking like that. It’s your social – nay MORAL responsibility to do something about this, for the good of our future children, and our children’s children. And what about those bottles left out there? They’ll make their way into our oceans! And what about the whales? And the  orphans? And why can’t we adopt them? The whales? And the orphans?


The antithesis of the lover, they’re sure you looked at them. You did, didn’t you? You looked at them funny. You must have meant something by it. What do you want? You got a problem? Paranoia lives here, in this sadly cursed drinker. If they’re not a lone wolf, fighting  out at shadows, they’re in a couple, bickering and lashing out at perceived slights. You looked at that girl with the tiny arse over there, didn’t you? You’ve been staring at her all night. You may as well just get it over with and deliver her babies on the dance floor already. Hurry up.

Various Dwarf-named type people – Sleepy, Happy, Dopey, Floppy


Speaks for itself. Sleeps a lot. In most places. Head on table, on bar, on hands, or back, looking up at the sky, mouth catching flies.


The goshdarn cheeriest, smiliest, giggliest person you have EVER seen touch a drop of alcohol, ever. Like a rainbow of colour, or a bowl of Skittles. In fact… I’m not sure this one is even a curse, except that it usually seems to have an antithesis, the following morning, when the ogre from hell arises from the bed-swamp with the hangover of 20 men.

I would never, ever dance on a table in heels. That’s just silly. It’s that person called ‘Bride’ again.


Don’t play cards with this one. Dopey drinks the drinks, then is rendered generally unable to focus on fixed objects, follow general conversations, dance sensible dance moves like ‘the sprinkler’ or the ‘ring on it’ move, and can utter only one monosyllabic word: ‘Huh?’


Like a foal with newfound legs, this curse often strikes the long-limbed newborn drinking cursed among us. They can be found tottering and teetering in skyscraping heels, and rendered jelly-like by the rubbermaking effects of alcopop number three.  You could offer your steady arm, or you could just point and laugh.


You regularly see these out in heels on a Saturday night

Which one of these are you? Which one of these am I? (Note: I’ve made this really, really difficult for you.) Are you extra blessed – with a happy super-combo of curses – are you in fact a happy-sleepy-flirty fighter?

Stay tuned. I’m going out this Saturday night for a LONG overdue escape from the kid-factory. I’m sure nothing untoward will happen. And if it does, I’ll be sure to not write about it. Ahem…