All the stupid things that wine makes me do.

I tend to say exactly what I am thinking, which often happens to be an outrageous diatribe against whatever happens to be in my line of vision, be it a human being or a wall. My friends are pretty used to it, but I think it does put off new acquaintances. Oops.

I like to hold my phone, put it in my pocket, take it out, look at it, check if I have any messages, check my voicemail, and then the unthinkable happens: I call people. I text them if they don’t pick up. And one guess as to what I say? Yes, that’s it: exactly what I am thinking. I very often never recover from these situations.

I clean when wine is involved. This may include doing the dishes, making beds, arranging all my sweaters in order of thread thickness and colour, shirts in stripes and plains, boxing shoes...but my all time favourite cleaning wine move yet is the 2 am Hoover. No explanations necessary.

I rarely have run-ins with 4 slices of toast in a single sitting, but a little bit of wine in the system makes me feel as though I am in it for the record of the most bread consumed at once.

I sing. Loudly (and very very badly).

The ‘touch-up’ is another classic, one that we’ve all spotted at some point. A girl rummages through her purse and out comes the lip gloss. She attempts to put this on but realises that her hand doesn’t quite know where the lips are and she needs an assistant...the bathroom mirror in the club. She teeters on her heels to the toilet (on the other side of the dance floor of course), takes out her mascara and spends about half an hour touching up her make-up, which is ironic given the club is dark, she has the camera in her bag and is the only one taking photos, so absolutely no one will see her or remember that imperfect smidge of eye shadow. Ah wine, thanks again for that night out spent mostly in the toilet.

The Winebook message, or ‘like’ or comment. I leave you to decipher.

I don’t often cry, but a nice bottle of Shiraz often makes the blue door resemble ‘the sky on the day I got my very first bike and the boy that I was infatuated with taught me how to ride along the garden paths and held my hand and it was all so sweet...’ somebody pass the tissues please. Thanks. It is unfair to solely blame wine for this: gin and vodka are guilty parties.

The worst thing about wine though, is the fact that it makes you think MORE is good. Not only that, but it’s a sneaky little bugger: it doesn’t annihilate one’s ability to pour. Vodka and gin are good at this, you’re co-ordination and ability to open or pour any more drinks diminishes at a rate that is proportional to how much you drink. Wine does the opposite: it enhances techniques of intricate tasks, such as using a cork screw, sending texts, and typing emails. Evil little... Pkeaseee psas me thd xinf...