Why girls shouldn't drink

I drink. I drink a lot. Far more than the government, doctors, even alcoholics recommend. I drink for pleasure, I drink socially, I drink for banter. (I also drink to avoid deadlines- once turning a civilised meal at a friends 70 year old landlords house into a shotparty). 

 Wine, cider, tequila, stale alcopops... You name it, I most likely will give it a go. 

I have noticed an slight issue however. Every time I drink, I do very stupid things and make a massive prat of myself. Perhaps a small bug on the window shield of life, but walking into Spar at 5:30am, having a conversation involving bacon I'd much rather forget, has been a low of recent times. Repeatedly skanking to the Abba medley on a dead dance floor was another strong moment, as was ACCIDENTALLY (and I stress accidentally) kicking a dwarf in the face one fateful Oceana night. 

I get into states like this, and much worse situations, which I feel for the sake of my already shattered dignity remain quiet, because I go to the place of no return. Cloud cuckoo land, the point of no return- the kingdom of wasted. This is because, and excuse my general blanket statements, I am a woman. I try and keep up with my male counterparts, and drink what they can. Apparently, evidently, I can't. I'm not exactly small- Kate Moss I am not- but apparently alcohol tears shit up in the general brain department, and gone are the ability to regain dignity, flow of thought, and often consciousness, way before my male friends are ready to call it a night. 

So maybe it is just me. Maybe I am just a recipe for disaster- only exemplified when I add alcohol. But this is me, and I'm perfect and blameless, and in no way prepared to ever take responsibilities for my actions. I'm therefore creating the theory that woman possess a department in the brain which fizzles out when alcohol is absorbed. It's called the general acceptable behaviour department, and it can also fizzle when hormones are added- obviously can't be blamed for our shitty moods when we have PMT/ we have no chocolate/ Topshop hasn't got the dress in the right size. 

This department would normally stop us from dancing like a dick, saying things we don't mean, spending £35 in a bar, crying hysterically after the 8th jäger bomb FOR NO REASON, and making general bad decisions. 

In full knowledge of my latest scientific discovery, I can now make a prat of myself in peace, knowing full well it's not my fault, and it is completely out of my hands, and enjoy being young, letting the cards fall where they may. Even if that is on your arse, outside a club, looking like Alice Cooper and renouncing all men. 

Samm. xx