cheers!

We all have at least one friend who always has one drink too many. The one who goes from vaguely jolly to that girl in the Exorcist in the space of one glass of wine. Who suddenly gets all glazy eyed and starts ranting about the state of the world, the hardships they've endured or just gets bolshy and mouthy? And then the next morning they are always slightly sheepish and start going on about how it was 'the booze talking'?
Well, my booze doesn't talk. It eats! Give me enough wine and, in the space of one glass, while that other friend is beginning to revolve their head through 360 degrees looking ever angrier, i will have morphed into the human equivalent of a Dyson hoover.
No plate is safe once sufficient units of alcohol have been consumed. Put me near a running buffet and I will soon turn it into a run out buffet – no combination of nibbles too surreal. At a friend's birthday party in the not too distant past i was found eating peanut and crisp sandwiches with ham. Really. And butter, which i normally consider devil's spawn!
And as for the low fat, healthy diet i try to follow when there is no alcohol involved? Just add booze and it goes out of the window.
I become utterly butterly with no full reflex whatsoever.
Last night was a case in point. Having begun the evening with a (very good, even if i do say so myself) margarita, we went on to fizz to celebrate brother in law's birthday before heading out to more margaritas and wine before a Mexican meal.
at said meal i managed to consume not only my own body weight in starters (which i said i didn't even want!) but all of my own main course and half of my sister's too boot (she wasn't drinking and so was fully in control of her mental and gastric faculties).
I don't know what comes over me. it's like i channel hattie jacques once the sherry comes out. Answers on a postcard please.
Did i tell you i've just come back from Chicago?
There I 1 smelt the foulest sheets i have ever come across and believe me, i've come across a few sheets in my time. these were on the sofa bed that i was meant to be sleeping on for a week. suffice to say we moved.
2 had the worst pedicure of my life. the young girl who did it managed to make me bleed TWICE! i would actually have declined the 'treatment' – she'd already given my friend the world's second worst pedicure, this time putting on and taking off toe nail varnish THREE TIMES – but the poor thing was patently terrified of her tyrannical boss who kept on shouting things at her in Slovakian, causing her to cower with tears in her eyes before grinning at me (the boss, that is) saying 'is good worker'.
my toenails are just about grown back. thank you for asking