Columns

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time at 4am, I was in McDonald’s for some late-night chicken nugs and I saw a girl pee her pants. I literally had lingering eye contact with this chick as urine ran down her leg, and then I helpfully pointed to the puddle at her feet and told her that she had pissed herself, in case she hadn’t noticed. And then I got my nuggets and walked home.

Don’t get me wrong: I completely believe in a woman’s right to get totally Lindsay Lohan’ed and make bad decisions. But we all need to accept (myself included) that sometimes when girls get drunk, they become particularly annoying (think high-pitched shrieks and uncanny amounts of face-planting). We need to start making changes to ensure we don’t end our nights all alone in a puddle of pee.

Our first step towards dignity should be to ditch drinks of a questionable colour. We can’t keep drinking Raspberry Cruisers like they’re Diet Coke on a school night – everyone knows that respectable pissheads don’t need sugar to mask the taste of alcohol. Wine and spirits are much more respectable and classy (class not guaranteed). Gin and tonics are a good gateway drink for those of you who need a couple of weekends to wean yourself off Archers.

That being said, alcohol is a depressant so please stay away from it if you’re feeling sad. Actually, just stay away full stop. Do not come out. When people are trying to party they don’t want to have to deal with some bitch sobbing in the corner. No one cares about your emotional crisis, they only care about singing along to R Kelly’s “Remix to Ignition.” If there’s a chance of getting weepy on the piss, do it like Bridget Jones: at home, in flannel pajamas, with Celine Dion and a bottle of vodka.

As much as I shudder to see girls with their boobses hanging out, I don’t think it’s bad to bring out our inner slut every now and then. That’s fine. But please stop grinding on whatever you feel behind you on the dance floor. Creepy middle-aged men, and a million other things, are why this is a bad idea. But also, chances are that it’s not a dude at all, just some poor girl who just wants to make it to the bar without getting used as a stripper pole.

We are at the stage in life where it’s pretty standard to end the evening hugging a toilet bowl. But the McDonald’s floor is not an acceptable substitute. Stay fabulous, bitches.