So, I've had my birthday (I survived) and with it came several nights out, all of which included alcohol. Now I have a recurring fear about these drunken evenings. I always wake up the next day with this thought; 'what the hell did I do with my phone?' And I don't mean 'Where is it? Have I lost the most expensive thing I own?' No. What I mean is; who have I sent drunken text messages or emails to? How many drunken 2am calls have I made? Have I written embarrassing stuff all over my own, or worse still, someone else's Facebook wall?
The best and worst thing I've ever bought is my iphone. I love it and I hate it. All that communication at your fingertips. It's all too easy to send some random text or email to the current object of your affections. Something helpful along the lines of 'Do you have any idea how I feel about you?' Or similar. Something that might spark a conversation that could lead to something wonderful. Or, more likely, something that is so buttock-clenchingly, watch-through-your-fingers mortifying you feel you may actually die of shame. The wonderful stuff only ever happens in films. The embarrassing stuff? Well, that happens all the time.
Most recently, I enjoyed several drink with friends (one Pornstar Martini and several thousand Cosmopolitans to be precise). The evening was not a particularly late or raucous one but alcohol – it's like some sort of truth serum isn't it? Suddenly, telling that certain someone that you think about them all the time seems the most reasonable thing in the world to do. 'What's the worst that could happen?' you ask yourself. Well, you could end up looking a complete arse for one. 'But at least I'll know' you try to tell yourself. Know what? That he doesn't feel the same and actually now you'll never hear from him again? FFS.
Anyway, back to my evening out...I got chatting to one very glamorous and gorgeous friend. We got talking about men. We've had similar recent experiences and as the evening progressed, she announced 'I'm gonna send a text!' Really? Nooooooo! Don't do it. Or just draft it. Don't send it. Or we'll chat about it and draft it at home. Don't. Send. The. Text. Just don't. No good can ever come of it. But I didn't bank on her strong will did I? By the time we arrived at mine the deed was done. She'd drafted, written and sent - all in the space of the cab ride home.
She actually looked a bit shell-shocked as we opened our bottle of wine. 'Oh God. I thought I'd regret it in the morning but actually, I'm regretting it now. Oh God.'
We sat down to assess the damage. The text wasn't that bad to be honest. It was fairly open, didn't make any demands, just stated a few facts. However, did it elicit a response at 12.30am? No. And still none at 3.30am when she left for home. Before she left, she said; 'Are you going to send a text? One you may regret in the morning?' And do you know, I'd had enough to drink to consider it. I have a lot to say to be honest. Not enough alcohol was on board though (thank God!) to blindly say 'yeah – course' and start tap-tapping on my phone. No, just enough to make me think 'What's the worst that could happen?' (other than me having to shut my Facebook account, change my email address and never show my face in public when I get rejected – again – you mean?!) Luckily, I was just in control of my actions enough to prevent any sort of iphone communication action....
Many months ago TJ said to me 'Michelle, don't drink and dial. It ruins relationships'. She learnt the hard way. Many 2am calls were made. Many text messages were sent. It never ended well. And I think that's stuck. Because like the morning after most other drunken nights (most, not all...), I reached for my phone when I woke up all bleary-eyed. And with one eye shut and the other squinting (for fear of what I might see you understand), I checked my call log. None made. Phew!
I checked the email sent box. Both accounts. Nothing. Thank God!
I checked my Facebook account. No horrendous posts. Mops brow.
And finally, the most dangerous communication tool of all.....I checked my text messages. Praise the Lord!
Nothing. I did nothing.
Thank f**k for that!
