Christmas drinking

For Christmas this year I’d like a new liver.

A nice pink spongy one, to replace my sodden yellow one.

Not that I’m an alcoholic or anything.

But this time of year, it’s hard to say no to an opportunity to imbibe.

Whether it’s a work Christmas party, wedding or summer BBQ, the devil on the left shoulder beats the angel on the right every time.

Most mornings you feel like reaching into your chest, removing the organ and wringing it out.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Let’s take our Mothers Group reunion, for example.

We’d barely seen each other sans infant for three years.

The warning signs were there early: a bunch of 30- and- 40- something women, dressed to the nines, delighted to be out of the house.

Track pants were replaced with mini-skirts; stained t-shirts with chiffon blouses; running shoes with killer heels.

The local pizza place turned out to be an excellent choice, with red wine on tap and a gorgeous young waiter who didn’t mind being harassed by drunken cougars.

I felt a little ashamed of our behaviour, so I drank some more to block it out.

We ended up at the local R-S-L where several of the ladies – who shall remain nameless – leapt up on stage and grabbed the microphone from some poor soul singing Eagles songs.

It became an impromptu karaoke session, with harmonies not heard since the neighbour’s cats were on heat.

Thankfully, one remaining brain cell ordered my tired and bedraggled body downstairs and into a taxi.

Reports from the remainder of the evening couldn’t be printed in a family newspaper.

That’s what happens when good mums go bad.

All those years of missed drinking sessions while pregnant, breastfeeding and child rearing culminate in one almightly piss-up.

I tried to prevent a repeat of this episode at a friend’s wedding last week.

But some bright spark decided to serve Mojitos.

Now, if the bride and groom are putting on fancy cocktails for their special day, well, it would be impolite to say no, right?

Then, there were the hilarious and moving speeches – 14 in total – each of which required a toast.

I recall blubbering something about the “best wedding ever” before being dragged home by my husband, who’s now threatening to go off the grog for 12 months.

How on earth will we cope with our relatives without alcohol?

Don’t get me wrong – we love them and everything.

But every family is dysfunctional. There’s always the crazy aunt, the step-monster, the control freak.

And sometimes, a little alcohol helps the medicine go down.

Too much alcohol ain’t a good thing either.

One of my copper mates reckons Christmas is the worst day of the year for domestic disturbances.

So Lord, at this most holy time of year, grant me half a cup of moderation, a pinch of kindness, a tie for my tongue, and the power to say “no”.