On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: nausea, shame and parental disapproval
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Grinch.
In fact, you would have to go a long way to find someone who loves Christmas as much as I do.
Every year the urge to put up the tree and crack out Now That’s What I Call Christmas hits me mid-November – I restrain myself in my constant struggle to be a socially acceptable human being. And as a general rule, The Tab doesn’t encourage sobriety.
But Christmas Eve is the one night of the year where going out should be a no-no, and not just because you’ll probably be stuck in the inevitably shit nightlife of your home town.
We all know too well that the excitement of getting home for Christmas is quickly overtaken by the realisation that you’ve suddenly lost all the freedom you regained in September.
You miss your uni friends, your mum makes you tidy your room and some parents even bring back the curfew.
So by the 24th, the temptation to get away from it (them) all is admittedly strong.
Still, spending Christmas Day sobbing into your turkey in the usual post-night out amnesiac spiral of shame, panic and fear is far from festive.
Enduring a seemingly endless reel of embarrassing drunken flashbacks and imagining the worst possible things I could have done or said the night before is not on my Christmas list.
Beyond the effects of the dreaded ‘shameover’, this year, the lingering taste of jägerbombs and tequila shots won’t sour the flavour of my pigs in blankets.
Food coma > hangover.And the effects of the ill-advised Christmas Eve night out might even prevent you from getting sleighed (sorry) on the big day.
I’ll save my hangover for Boxing Day, thanks.