One of the more socially annoying aspects of having multiple sclerosis is that I am suddenly a very cheap date. A couple of glasses of my favourite tipple, dry white wine, and I’m zooming away into oblivion. Or more often than not, maudlin and tearful. ‘Why meeeeee’, I’ll wail, filling up my glass to the brim and wiping my smeared mascara all over my face. ‘Don’t wanna have MS, s’not fair’.
So, as with many other things in my life now, I have to be creative and think of new ways of doing things. I have now solved the alcohol conundrum. And I no longer argue with lamp posts.
I have cunningly switched from white wine to red. I can’t drink red wine quickly, so I drink far less than I would if it were white. Clever, eh? Plus, it gives me a much more mellow feeling than white, so rather than wailing, I simply ponder how my life has changed. Like a proper grown up.
On Friday night, with The Teenager at a sleepover, I put this new-found knowledge to the test. My friend took me out to a lovely old gastro-pub in the countryside. We shared a bottle of red. Lovely. And we had a very grown-up sophisticated conversation, catching up on our week. Sipping my wine thoughtfully, I made interesting and insightful comments.
At the next place, a cafe-slash-wine bar (car now safely deposited at home), we shared another bottle and had yet more intelligent conversation. And I even managed to go to the loo without stumbling. Finally, we had a night-cap at a pub, sitting outside. I felt smugly superior to the clearly-drunk women staggering around, clutching glasses of white wine, yelling at passing cars.
I was feeling very proud now, and congratulated myself on being such a responsible adult. So maybe we shouldn’t have popped into the late-night supermarket on the way home .
Waking up the next morning with a dry throat and slightly trembling hands, I went downstairs and found the previous night’s spoils. A packet of Hallowe’en cakes, two supersize bags of crisps, an unopened bottle of red wine and an exercise magazine. Muppet.