Life is Hell

I'm bored

Vitamins and Whisky

According to the French, the way to health are these Glycerin suppositories.  Stuff them.

My Beloved (note the promotion to the full capital. Again) has said I must adopt a more healthy lifestyle.

Zen and the Art of Garden Maintenance

Become one with the Universe

The Finer Points of Social Etiquette 3 - Drinking Whisky

G'day pitiful inhabitants of blogworld, Auntie Twisted's back again.  This will have to be my last attempt at improving your basic understanding of the vital areas of social etiquette, as duties demand that I leave for the Middle East tomorrow.  Just keep your eyes open for any sudden deaths in Libya, Egypt and Yemen.

Drunken Women

We've just had the IRB 7s in Wellington, with a lot of good games and an excellent result for NZ, winning the Cup.  Especially as they beat England.  We were in Wellington earlier on Saturday, and there was a great atmosphere as the participants milled about in their costumes, everyone seemed very happy, and slightly boozed-up.
The police reported that there wasn't much trouble until after the matches had finished, when they were inundated by packs of drunken WOMEN.

Oh yes, it was the fairer sex which got completely legless and abusive, and this was reported in the press with some element of surprise.

Why surprise?

Any bloke knows that it is our bounden duty to keep the flow of drink towards our ladies under strict control.  They seem to lose all dignity, self-respect and any sense of propriety or control when the influence of the Demon Drink hits their little brains.
Anyone who has worked behind a bar knows how much more dangerous (and surprisingly stimulating) two women fighting are compared to two blokes having a go.  There isn't any restraint, anything goes.  Nails, teeth, fists and feet, they use the lot.  The image of an ineffectually swung handbag is pure fantasy.  These ladies go for the jugular.

Now this is a pleasant change.

For years, feminists and politicians of a liberal and greenie persuasion have been berating us blokes as neanderthal throwbacks.  All blokes are obviously vicious thugs, who resort to violence at the first opportunity, and it would be a much better world if they could quickly and painlessly remove our balls.  (They don't actually say that last bit, but it's obvious in the sub-text of their ranting press releases)

The thing is that guys are taught from an early age to show some restraint in physical violence.  We know that we're intrinsically much stronger than most females, and we learn to control our urge to tear someone's head off, or gouge out their eyeballs, or dislocate shoulders or knees.  We keep that sort of thing for League, not down the pub or walking home.

Our lovely ladies have never had such training.  There sensitive and growing years were spent dressing/undressing dolls, having tea parties with their favourite stuffed animals, changing the nappies on their baby-dolls and applying makeup to their innocent little faces. 

Actually a Spitfire IIb, not a IIIa

They weren't fighting the Afrika Corps at Tobruk, or having a shoot-out with the Sioux, or fighting off the Luftwaffe single handedly in a Spitfire Mk III.  Boys learned to control our physicality.  We learned that burying a tomahawk in little Johnnie's skull was frowned upon by both mates and screaming adults, and such an event was not to be repeated. (Unless the little snivelling bastard retaliated with the BB gun his big brother had, then all bets were off)
The lessons assimilated into our psyches at such an early age, are still present, even when a bloke's had a skinful.

Not so for our lovely ladies.  The early training can be observed as the girls get pissed.  A tendency to take of their clothes (dressing/undressing dolls), insisting that everyone get another drink (having tea parties with their favourite stuffed animals), repeatedly going to the loo (changing the nappies on their baby-dolls and applying makeup to their innocent little faces).
But because they've never had the basic training in controlling their fighting instincts, de-inhibition by excessive alcohol levels results in a no-holds-barred type of physical assault which leaves most blokes feeling sick.
It makes us even sicker if we get in their way.  Guys KNOW that kicking/kneeing some other bloke in the goolies is not right, we would only do it in a life or death situation.  Not our lovely little ladies.  That's why our police dread trying to take in drunken girls, they have no such inhibitions, and regularly try to put said areas of male anatomy into a low earth orbit via knee, fist, foot or even (God forbid) teeth.

Maybe they should pass a national law, keeping all women to a maximum of 1 pint of Shandy per day.

You know it makes sense.

Justice

I like having the occasional little drinkie.  Not too often, and not too much.  However my beloved does not always agree.  She seems to think that anything more than one glass of wine a week is indicative of incipient alcoholism, so I do what every married man does.  Lies and hides.

Not really, but I do have a wee drinkie in private now and again.

So when my beloved had an idea of taking a magnum of Huia 2004 Pinot Noir as a present to my relatives in Scotland, I said great, and away she went fossicking amongst or wine cellar.

When she came back, I knew something was wrong.
It wasn't the icy glare
It wasn't the frowning face
It wasn't even the lips clamped in a razor sharp line.
It was the large and empty gin bottle being shaken at my face.

Oh Shit.

But wait a moment, I don't like Gin.  Oh the occasional G & T in the summer, but it isn't my beverage of choice.

Just as my beloved began to ask the question, spittle dripping suavely from her tightening lips, about what THIS was doing hidden behind the wine bottles, I remembered.

I waited until she had finished, and then posed the innocent, yet pointed question.

"Oh Dear, didn't you ask me to put that way so you could use it to make Sloe Gin?"

A moment of complete silence, then the joyous and rarely heard utterance; "Oh"

Sometimes life can be very, very sweet.