Search
  • Dami Afam Ade-Odiachi

Drinking! Fun in your twenties, violent in your 30s.



My hangovers are violently inconsistent. The lightheaded heavy-headed foggy feeling of head and brain accompanied by waves of nausea, a throbbing dehydration created headache, and bowel looseness that can no longer be predicted or planned.


When I was younger the manifestation of the afore mentioned symptoms to their fullest extent would only follow the wildest of nights.

Tequila shot(s)?


Yes!

Samboucca shot(s)?

Yes Please!


Absinthe?


Oh you dirty devil but also yes! yes! yes!

A little wine to wash it all down?


Don’t mind if I do. Just a glass, and definitely no more than four… As a well brought up Nigerian with exceptional home training I am the very picture of moderation.


Some whisky? I know you like a good scotch.


Ah! You’re too good to me kind sir or madam… and at this point I can hardly tell. Are you a sir, or a madam, or an x? I’m more than a little bit drunk but I’m a strict observer of preferred pronouns. What! You’re a Penguin? That’s your gender? That’s perfectly alright too. But about that whisky dearest Penguin. It’s a single malt you sexy flightless bird? Yes! Fill the tumbler up… a bit more… that’s perfect. A nice tipple before beer - never better.

Pe-heng-win! Panging baby!

Pe-heng-win! Boozy baby!

Claws for toes, and arms with no fingers,

Bring this man some proper liquor!

We’ve got a good vodka. It’s a Beluga.


Then Bugati me silly old chap. Bugati me all the way to Russia.

Let’s have a toast to youth and its divine beauty. I felt immortal, infinite, inexorable. I’m no longer sure what inexorable means. I first encountered the word when I was 10… in the Chronicles of Narnia. A quick look in my dictionary says it means “impossible to stop or prevent.” It is a very good word. Very well used too. I’ll give myself a pat on the back for writing ignorantly but brilliantly. This is the very definition of talent.

These days I am not so fortunate. If I did the above in one night, I would probably die. By some magic of ageing I am an even cheaper drunk now than I was when I was 20. It doesn’t take much to get me buzzed, and it takes even less to give me the hangover of death:


Heavy headed light headed fogginess of head and brain. Am I coming? Am I going? Am I dying?

Surging waves of unproductive nausea. Retching without vomiting is like slavery or an unpaid internship or an entry level salary in most Nigerian companies - immoral. All that work and no pay? Rude.


The throbbing dehydration created headache. Oh dear Lord why did you not give me the head for doctorhood and the hands of a surgeon? I need a bag of drip! No! I need 2 bags of drip.

H-U-N-G.

Here’s a man that wants to die,

He’s finished.

Yeah! Yeah!

He’s finished!


O-V-E-R.

He’s been drinking way too hard!

Was it worth it?

Yes. No.

Did he enjoy it?

He don’t know.


Bowel looseness… When I was younger and wilder and handsomer, I didn’t mind sharing the details of my toiletry exertions, excursions and escapades with the world, but now I’m 30. Some things, like my anus, are best left undiscussed.


The problem is I can no longer be sure of the amount of alcohol that will induce the above. Some times it’s a little, and at other times it’s a fair amount, but whatever it is, it is certainly less than it took at 25.


Happy Days,

Afam



54 views0 comments