What is it about the witching hour that sets our restless thumbs a-twitching? In the harsh scrutiny of daytime, social order and propriety reign over every conversation with an iron fist of fury. But dim the lights, add some Schnapps and there’s nothing you wouldn’t say.
We send myriad texts when we’re drunk. Stuff like ‘where are you?’, ‘I’ll see you at Fridays’, ‘my phone’s about to die’ etc. But let’s just establish that sending a text while you're drunk is VERY DIFFERENT from sending a Drunk Text. Drunk Texting requires the revelation of your darkest subconscious with awkward and debilitating results.
We’ve taken seven of the most common drunken textual blunders and translated them back into polite conversation. Scroll back through your messages, see how you did, and just be glad it wasn’t a drunk dial…
‘Why don’t you love me??’
Translation: How did you move on before I did?
Recipient: Your ex, who moved on before you did (how very dare they).
Culprit: This kind of resentful truth bomb is often deployed at the end of a gin bender. Juniper = sadfeels.
Let’s be real: you’re drinking to forget. When people break your heart you brush the fragments under a rug and go out drinking. But the buzz never lasts and sooner or later you find yourself lifting the rug at two in the morning and haplessly trying to mend your fractured soul and remove your make-up at the same time.
‘I was the one who did that thing that time’
Translation: THE GUILT IS EATING ME WHOLE
Recipient: The unfortunate soul whose reputation was irredeemably besmirched when they took the fall that time for the thing you did.
Culprit: White wine, the universal truth serum. Catholic priests should serve this in the confessional queue.
You’ve drunk too much and unleashed your lumbering beast of a conscience. But thanks to old mate Chardonnay you’re optimistic enough to put everything out in the open. And yes I know they had to change their name after ‘the incident’, but isn’t it great that we can laugh about it now right?…..right?
‘We used to be friends’
Translation: I’ve read too much into this non-friendship.
Recipient: An old acquaintance with whom your interaction has reduced to wishing each other happy birthday on Facebook.
Culprit: Vodka Red Bulls, Jaeger bombs and other reminders of a simpler time.
What was meant to be a fun girls night turned awry when Ashley’s ex-boyfriend Dylan turned up and then it was just like high school. You left to get a cab with Tammy and she said ‘Do you remember when we used to hang out with Rosie? What happened to her?’ Taylor Swift’s ‘Bad Blood’ came on the radio and sentimentality took over.
‘I never wanted to be an astrophysicist’
Translation: I just wanted to run an orchard.
Recipient: Your astrophysicist parents who just wanted what was best for you.
Culprit: Red, red wine.
Well for a start, you’re an astrophysicist, but you’re an astrophysicist with no balls. You’ve probably spent all evening jamming with some alternative crew of nomadic bongo-players who’ve just returned from three years teaching English in Pleiku and now you’re wondering what direction your life is taking. Dry your tears (you are almost definitely crying at this stage) and chase that elusive rainbow dream wish, or whatever.
‘I think you’re cute’
Translation: Marry me please.
Recipient: ‘that guy’ whose number you lucked into procuring after years of stalking him online and calling him your ‘boyfriend’.
Culprit: Whisky or any other dark spirit (the key to unveiling dark secrets).
You’re probably one of those commitment-phobes who can’t even stomach the idea of a lock-in phone plan. The truth of the matter is you want it all and you want it now. But you don’t want to go get it for yourself. You want it all to come to you. And then leave when you don’t want it. And then come back with food later. Probably born somewhere between the early 1980s and the early 2000s….
Snapchat of a kebab
Translation: It’s 3am.
Recipient: Everyone who can see your story
Culprit: I want to say Ouzo or something that would make the most sense for the kebab, but it was beer. The cheapest beer.
Not technically a text, but it only ever happens when you are hammered and will almost definitely have a caption so I’m saying it counts. Your library of food pictures has grown so large you’ve needed to set up a second Instagram account to accommodate all of them. Your chronic habit of photo-documenting everything you eat never breaks, not even when you’re plastered.
‘You never return my calls >:(’
Translation: I’ve left almost 14 voice messages and your lack of response is wearing thin.
Recipient: Current romantic pursuit.
Culprit: Vodka shots.
Maybe they’re a booty call playing coy. Maybe you’re a booty call playing bold. Old mate seems to have all the power in this relationship and maybe they’ve earned it OR MAYBE you’ve let them have all the power by not ASSERTING YOURSELF as the INDEPENDENT WOMAN you are.
‘Hlap imi stk in a strm waater drayne’
Translation: ‘Help - I’m stuck in a storm water drain’.
Recipient: Usually your best mate. Sometimes emergency services, if your best mate is stuck in the drain with you.
Culprit: Tequila, you merciless bitch.
I have no idea what you were attempting to do in that storm water drain, but you seem like a fun kid. How do you manage to so artfully dodge getting into real trouble with all the whacky shenanigans you get up to? Years of practise, ya cheeky little cheekster.
Image credit: Buzz Feed
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