The liver detox diet...
Well that’s it. I’m on a health kick. Well, more of a health
twitch, but the bottom line is that alcohol isn’t a part of my diet in the next
few months. It’s probably not such a terrible outcome.
Unfortunately, I turn
into a bit of a foolish drinker. As though my brain regresses 15 years.
I think somewhere around the age of 17 or 18, somebody gave
me my first nip. Probably an old fairytale
style witch in a hooded cape I should imagine, creeping out of the shadows she
may have passed me a small potion bottle
with an iridescent elixir of schnapps. She would have pointed a bony finger at me and promised that if I drank it I’d be empowered
with endless wit, charm, dance potential, and the ability to sing. Like all evil witches, she may have deceived
me...
Dear Evil Witch,
You promised this elixir would make me funny. When did
making other people smell the lint from my belly button get funny exactly?
You suggested this magical potion would make me charming. I
refute the definition includes dressing up in sleeping bag covers and wearing
pretzels for glasses. Who exactly am I charming? Captain Snooze? The elixir also
gave me some gas. Again, charming for whom? We haven’t even touched on the swearing.
I mean really, how appropriate is it for a lady of 33 to exclaim, ‘for fuck’s sake
Max!’ every time she spills a drink down her soiled top? Hm? I suppose I should be thankful that I didn't moon anyone should I?
Dancing. You said I’d get good at dancing. I thought I
looked like an African-American booty dancer in a Snoop Dogg video clip. But
no, I return the elixir with the complaint that it seems to always inflate my
arse and send it circling into neither a sexy or rhythmic pattern, almost as if
it were a giant butt sized sparkler trying to write its own name in an imaginary
dance floor sky. I look happy though, I’ll
give you that.
And then there’s the singing…
I drank the elixir. I even had a few extra doses to make
sure my voice was pitch perfect. I believed it was. So why after my fabulous rendition of ‘Hit Me
With Your Best Shot’ did the staff at the footy club tape up all the glass wear
in preparedness for my next turn? Only I didn’t get another turn on the Karaoke stage did I evil
witch? No, instead when I lined up they bonked me on the forehead with the
microphone and said, ‘no music for you! You’ve curdled all the milk in the
udders of all the cows in a 100km radius and newborn babies have started to
attempt ‘re-entry’’.
You win Witchypoo, this round anyway. I’m going to be so sober for twelve weeks
that my liver might even come out from hiding. I know it’s in there somewhere,
I can feel a certain tenderness on my side…
Yours sincerely,
