Kryptonite

I happen to enjoy wine. Frequently. Left to my own devices I gravitate towards the Reds but I have one friend who only drinks White. Sauvignon Blanc to be precise. She is chiefly responsible for today’s sorry tale. Now I am relatively impervious to the delights of a Merlot or a decent Cabernet Sauvignon. I drink, I sleep, I get up the next day fresh as a daisy. This is not the case with white wine however. Hence this post being called Kryptonite.

Friday’s white wine endeavours really excelled themselves though. We did the polite thing. She bought a bottle and then I bought a bottle. Commonsense and all experience to date should have told me to stop there. But when the prospect of a third bottle was raised I could not conjure up a single viable reason not to. And that might be where things went tits up.

In so far as I literally lost my boobs. As the crème de la crème of my drunkenness was the decision to somehow hide my breast forms from myself. To be entirely fair, I think I may have been suffering an irrational fear that they might fall into the hands of my Mum’s poodle while I slept. He’s had his beady little eyes on them for a while. He looks at them as a fox does chickens and the result he has in mind is not dissimilar. 

So I awoke to a newly boobless world and not even the slightest clue as to where they had been secreted by an inebriated idiot. Some 3 hours later I did eventually find them though. In the place that I had first looked. Although not well enough apparently . I think the moral of this story is to know your limits. At least until you have finished the second bottle. And more importantly, no matter how drunk you get, always stay one step ahead of the dog. Your cleavage may depend on it.

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