Walk of Shame

Every other Wednesday husband makes me do the walk of shame, a little different to the usual meaning.

dictionary.com

noun Slang.

the return trip home the morning after an unplanned sexual encounter, usually a one-night stand, wearing clothing from the previous evening.

ourhouse.com

noun Instruction.

Taking the bottle recycling crate down to the roadside for refuse collectors

At our previous house it was a simple affair, I’d take the bottles out at night and sneak half into our teetotal next-door neighbour’s crate, thereby avoiding any judgement from passersby or bin collectors. This worked marvellously until Age UK visited Mrs Parnell and questioned her excessive alcohol intake which resulted in her son putting up CCTV along with some unpleasant and quite frankly uneccessary accusations, scuppering my plan and our reputation as a household that drank a sensible amount of wine.

The house we live in now has a shared driveway and on alternate Wednesdays three crates stand side by side on the road, two looking guilt free and smug and one looking like it belongs to the Guns n Roses fan club. 

However, when I took the crate down this week it wasn’t the damning clank of empty wine flagons mashing together that woke the neighbours, it was the tinkly clink of cough syrup bottles.  I’ve got a throat infection and have been guzzling cough medicine like it’s wine cool drink for the past fortnight.

In between honking like a goose or coughing like I’m on 30 fags a day you’ll find me in the kitchen hurling back a ladle full of foul tasting, syrupy linctus.  And it’s horrible – whatever the brand, supposed flavour or viscosity they are all revolting and don’t seem to work.

So as I hauled the crate down the driveway this morning it was not in my usual furtive style, I paraded to the curb with confidence, proud that I can no longer be considered a wino but a sicko!

Side note : I once worked with a girl whose Mother was a recovering alcoholic but had developed a dependency on cough mixture – drinking between 3 to 6 bottles a day!  I’m not sure just how ‘recovered’ she actually was. 

Second side note : why is it called the Walk of Shame? I think we should rename it ‘the Sashay of Sexiness’, you went out, you partied, you got some and that’s pretty bloody awesome – no shame at all.  Just saying …

S