Drink and dial

The Nurse reminds me of a time, when we were just legal and our Monday nights involved being down at the China Beach knocking back $1 glasses of green beer or Tuesday nights at Luvaffair or Thursday nights at Kits Pub or any other night from Monday to Sunday and we would wake the next day, stare at the wreckage that was my untidy bedroom, and there in the middle, amidst CD's and discarded outfits, it would sit. With a clear path around it, like a beacon.

My telephone.

And we would look at each other in horror, wondering which current or potential beau had received the phone call in the early hours, too hung over or too embarrassed to try to remember.

When I first moved to the UK, my phone bills were extortionate as a result of the drink and dial. Not to mention my complete inability to work out the 8 hour time difference in my inebriated state.

And then came the text message. The Nurse's mobile phone is now confiscated at an early stage of the evening, as she is a serial dialler.
I, a slave to my phone, cannot bear to be parted and therefore have admissions of drunken texting. Feeling the embarrasment the following day when checking my sent messages in order to piece together the evening. I try to refrain, my dignity seeming to be a much more important feature in my life these days but like everything, I tend to regress sometimes.

And then this. Samsung has taken it one step further, unveiling a phone that will lock you out if you are over the limit and therefore rendering you incapable of the drunken midnight phone call.

Drink and dial will never be the same.