The Drunken Mother and the Nipple Illumination

Post CXXIX

Here’s the story of wedgie, confidence, and Waterloo.

It’s only when an incredibly drunk mother came crawling up the stairs singing the greatest hits of ABBA, that I knew Christmas had arrived. Her body is not used to alcohol. It’s as if all the little scientists in her body have been given wedgies by a little 1970s style punk movement. They don’t know how to remove said underwear from said buttocks. There are only so many times a friend will do that for you. And you can hardly use the salad tongs because you’ll never look at salad the same way again. Not to mention the fact that you may end up removing most of your bum hair. My advice would be to get it over with. Quick and painless. Grab and pull down, quickly, followed by a cheery celebration dance. Although don’t do it in public because a dancing man with a visible wang is probably illegal.

I’ve never actually been wedgied. This may come as a surprise. I am incredibly introverted, cripplingly so. I’m prime material for the bullies. I’ve actually been bullied more since I left my secondary school, St. David’s. I had protection back then. In the form of several burly men, all children of my mother’s friends. I was very popular, as you can tell. This arrangement was going smashingly well. When the bullies came to de-pant me, there was my army. My Avengers. Sadly, they finished school before I did. My days of sticking my tongue out were over. I decided to fight fire with fire. Didn’t work. I was suspended. Apparently, throwing a chair at someone is frowned upon.

I didn’t start that fight, by the way. I was getting the crap kicked out of me so I found a chair to fend him off. I ended up throwing it at him. He was fine. Barely grazed his head. He ran off crying and the school argued that I provoked him and started it. I didn’t. I was just walking to a lesson. It was a bit hard to argue against the school’s ruling considering I was already labelled a ‘chair-wielding lunatic’ before I even found myself in the headteacher’s office. My advice to you would be to not do what I did. Run and tell somebody instead. Unfortunately, I couldn’t escape that hell. It was a rough place. I was once shot several times with a BB gun. But that’s another story.

You’ll be delighted to hear St. David’s has long since been demolished.

It’s remarkable I didn’t turn to drink, but if a drunk me is anything like my ABBA loving mother, then that’s a good thing. The shy and quiet are always gonna have a difficult life. It also doesn’t help that I have the face of a 14-year-old girl, either. And I’m a 23-year-old guy. The shy are not violent but when we’re pushed into a corner our actions seem excessively violent to others, when in actual fact it’s just a basic instinct that we’re acting upon. I was sat on the college bus, going to my first day of my first college, St. Mary’s. I had teenage boys sitting behind me flicking my hair and taunting me. That didn’t end well. I ended up with spit in my eye. First day. Frizzy ruined hair and a red watering eye.

You’ll be delighted to hear St. Mary’s has long since been demolished.

I was thinking this week about those dark early days of school, college and the other week when that woman shouted at me on the bus. Or last week, when that baby taunted me on the bus. Or yesterday, when I fell asleep over the toaster, head in hand, my long luxurious flowing hair draped over a not very good locale. Yes, you guessed it. What you’re thinking happened next is exactly what happened next. I was awoken. By the toast as it finished cooking, flew out of the toaster and hit me in the face. And I wondered. Am I now happy? Where am I now? Other than talking to you guys, which always cheers me up. I’m right where I want to be.

We shy ones have a hard life but we savour the good moments, no matter how small or insignificant, and we amplify them like a glowing beacon illuminating the darkest days we’ve ever lived. I may have depressed the heck out of you guys, which is something I love to do every Christmas, but it doesn’t matter. In the last week, I had a mock interview, and I was told afterwards that I have good posture, a nice smile, good punctuality, and was full of confidence. I may have been shot in the right nipple by BB gun back in 2003, but ten years later, I don’t care. Somebody called me confident! I’m the person who once relieved himself in a bush because I couldn’t get home from school quick enough to make it to a toilet. I almost made it readers, but I stopped for an ice-cream from the ice-cream van. That’s not the actions of a man confident in his decision making! That’s the actions of a moron! The bush was behind a low wall. If somebody was walking on by, all they’ll have seen is me licking an ice-cream, a pleased look on my face, and a left hand strangely out of sight.

Life always gives you an opportunity for happiness, no matter how much darkness it tries to drown you in. I was having a terrible day the other day, and what do I hear? My 63-year-old mother singing ‘Waterloo’ crawling up the stairs like a toddler. That was brilliant! A gift from God Himself. Mother doesn’t drink, either. She wasn’t well. We take strong liquor in this house when we are under the weather. And it just so happens that when I needed a smile, there was mother. Off her rocker on vodka.

It’s been a crazy week, readers. Of contemplation, happiness and sadness. But without that, we wouldn’t have a life to live.

Now, if only I can find a way to get ‘Waterloo’ out of my head…

South African anti-apartheid revolutionary, politician, philanthropist and former president, Nelson Mandela (1918-2013), once said: “There is no passion to be found in playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living”.

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post


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