“Three sheets to the wind- means drunk. Three sheets to (or in) the wind is a nautical expression. If three sheets, which are the ropes holding the sails rather than the sails themselves, are loose and blowing about then the boat will lurch about like a drunken sailor. Dickens uses it in Dombey and Son.”
First, I got the above information online a long time ago, but I don’t remember the name of the site that offered the info. Second, I’ve never read the above mentioned Dombey and Son by Dickens. So please don’t ask me about Dombey and Son. You can ask me about Sanford and Son though. That was a funny show? I wonder if Dombey liked his son more than Sanford like his. Anyway, I digress. With that said, I can also now admit that I’ve never been three sheets to any wind. I’ve never even been two pillow cases to the moon. I’ve never even been slightly buzzed. I’m an enigma really. I’m a well over twenty-one year old ginger ale gal. Next to ginger ale, the strongest thing I’ve ever drunk has been Pepsi. Ice cold Pepsi can burn the lining of your throat and offer you one of those mini brain freezes if you’re not careful. Other than those kind of side effects, I’ve never experienced the hangover delight after so-called drunken enjoyment that most people have experienced.
Oh, my friends have tried to tempt me. I attend their parties and find myself being wary of cherry flavored squares of gellatin because I’m forewarned that they are jello shots. Who ever heard of spiking jello? Is nothing sacred?
Actually, I have great friends who are more than understanding of their always sober friend. If they’re serving cocktails, there are always virgin alternatives for me and always without fail a nice liter of ginger ale on ice in my honor.
They allow me to be the designated spectator of interesting games like Beer Pong. Beer Pong is a game in which people play against each other by throwing little plastic balls into cups half filled with beer that are positioned on opposite sides of a long table. (Yes, this is a real game. I did not make this up.) If you get your ball into one of your opponent’s cups, your opponent must, according to the laws of the intoxicated, drink the beer from that cup. This is truly a game of skill. Not everyone has good throwing ability you understand. The little, plastic balls often miss their targets and end up on the floor, in bushes or doggie bowls. It’s all right. It’s all part of the game.
What’s a little doogie bowl contact amongst friends, right? You can always rinse off the balls in a bowl of water that is usually kept nearby. However, once you’re fully into the game, you may forget to change the bowl water, but who cares about germs or a little dirt in the beer, right? Right. Because it’s Miller time, baby, and you have to just go with the flow.
So why don’t I ever roll with that flow? What’s my problem with alcohol? Nothing really. Okay, maybe the whole loss of inhibitions doesn’t really appeal to me. I have to admit I like being in control of my actions, thoughts and bodily functions. And to be totally honest, I don’t really need a stimulant to loosen up and enjoy myself. I’m often surprised by how many people do seem to need such stimulants.
Why do they need them? Well, it just seems easier to unwind, act a fool if necessary or work up the nerve to socialize if you know that in the end, you can blame anything you do on alcohol. Think about it. If you ever wanted to cut loose and dance on someone’s coffee table in your underwear while sober, you would be called an idiot. Try that after a few drinks, and you become the funny, life of the party.
As long as you don’t go overboard, it’s all good fun. But us non-sheets to the winders have our own incentive, too. It’s a little known fact, but there is a sense of interesting power that can be attained from sobriety.
Only the sober will recall the tributes to the 80s or 90s Gumby dance that tries to come back into fashion after a couple of margaritas have been sampled. Only the non-inebriated will remember the Demi Moore striptease attempts from a former wall flower after some shots of jagermeister.
Therefore, let’s cheer for the dear soda gals. Hurray, for a soda gal, for she will always drive you home no matter how much you puke in her car. And she will also hold your hair back without a word as you pay homage to the grand toilet bowl god once you get to said home just as long as you keep the ginger ale chilled and quit spiking her jello!
