I am what some might call an alcoholic; ever so jokingly of course (I hope!). But for me, my relationship with alcohol is so much more than that. You’re special. Every sip makes me wonder what your lips might look like, had you been a real person. On my higher points, I think I try and feel the shape of your mouth on mine. I don’t think they’re trouty though...

Ah. But I digress.

Anyway, when girls get together to drink, what transpires isn’t too far from what you imagined all these years as you YouTube-d ‘drunk hot girls’ (and some other unmentionables) on those lonely days.

Oh no! I kid! But you should have seen the look on your face.

It starts with the usual life-changing decision of who wants what. It could be anything between the wide range of the Breezers for the ‘teetotallers’ who have given in to peer pressure, the ever so popular ladies drink: the Vodka or that which intimidates most men I know when they see it in a female hand: the Rum and/or the Whiskey.
And then it starts; one round at a time.

Disclaimer: For the purposes of convenience and also, so that your little bubble of ‘girls can’t drink’ is intact, the number of the rounds we speak of is going to be four.

Also, observation might vary depending on various factors.

Assumption; A 90ml drink constitutes each round.

Round 1

Nothing brings together a bunch of woman together like common malice for someone. Well, now that I think about it, it doesn’t even have to be common, per se. Just the good old fashioned, pure unadulterated malice works just fine. For the lack of a better word, we bitch. We bitch about that girl she doesn’t like because she wears funny pants or that boy who is so ugly that she wants to throw up on his face just to make it a little less ghastly. This, that and then some more. From the rather harmless ‘I hate XYZ’ to the strongly felt curses couched in the choicest of abuses winds up the first round.

Round “Bhaiyyaaa!!! Repeattt!!!”

Next drink usually makes you fun. Or funny. It’s an either-or situation, really. Because we women are blessed with the gift of the gab, our ‘funny’ doesn’t involve falling over each other and wearing underpants over our heads. Not yet, anyway.

We talk.

Lots of jokes are discovered by now. And after the discovery, one is appalled at having missed such obvious jokes. Fortunately or otherwise, these jokes could very well be a rather prolonged extension of the bitching in the previous round. Yes, we are a mean lot.

No, I am not entirely proud.

Round “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’

When women get together, they talk about men. Really. Look around you! From Simi ji’s India’s Most Desirable rendezvous to KJo’s giggles over coffee with other women (Ahem..!), ‘men’ is the hottest topic. Starting with how one has been wronged by a sorry excuse of a specimen in the male species, to lots of self doubt regarding the possible cause of the current longing for the same chu****, and finally to the slow but sure transition of all the love talk replaced by sex.

Round ‘Let’s talk about sex, babbyyy!!!’

By now, the non-smokers of the group make the ‘informed’ decision of borrowing a couple of smokes from their smoker counterparts and smoke them without inhaling. Sigh. What a waste that is, but that’s another story for another time. So, needless to say, this round is dedicated to the getting down and dirty; ever so orally of course. Err... Oh... I mean... Verbally. Verbally. Secret fantasies, the ‘I-will-never’ list or to the passionate discussion over the opposite sex’s general lack of knowledge about foreplay; there’s more than one can put in words. A learning experience each time. 

The girls with limited taste for drinking, or ‘capacity’ as they’re famously called, end up puking to get it out of the system. I get their point of view, I do. If you must get up the next morning to find miscellaneous body part paining, you are probably better off with the alcohol out of the system. Now everyone might not share a relationship as special with alcohol as yours truly... You might wonder why I let you, though. Let you get me into the state of absolute passion wherein my eyes roll into the back of my head more often than not and I can only see myself addicted to all the things you do...

Ah. I digress.

Personally, I think party pukes should steal the show. No, this is not being sadistic one bit. I don't want for anyone to poop anyone's party. But there is something about your puke that makes you legendary. I understand being identified by one's puke is not everyone's ultimate dream but having been a part of some of the greatest puke stories, myself, I can't help but feel sorry for people whose pukes haven't made a mark in World History.

Happy Drinking, Y’all.