Seduced By Wine And Conquered By Gravity

Seduced by wine and conquered by gravity

The chronicles of a walking disaster

Staying home with my son doesn’t exactly scream “wild social life.” Most days, my idea of a party is binge-watching cartoons with him while trying to convince myself that apple juice counts as a mocktail. But this Friday? This Friday, I decided to live a little.

My friend suggested a relaxing evening at her place, complete with cheap wine and cheaper gossip. Seeing as my little boy was off on a sleepover, I thought, “Why not?!” A bit of adult company, a drink or two, I deserved it.

Fast-forward to three bottles later. My friend, bless her bargain-hunting soul, had bought wine so inexpensive that the bottle practically apologized for its existence. But hey, we couldn’t afford the good stuff, so we made do. Somewhere between debating whether Brad Pitt or Idris Elba aged better, the wine worked its magic. You know how they say wine boosts your hormones? Either that’s true, or I was about to make the worst decision of my life.

In my drunken brilliance, I decided it was time to spice up my non-existent love life. My new boyfriend, yes, new as in “I barely know his middle name but he smells nice”was coming over for the first time. I had texted him earlier, like the responsible adult I was , and told him where to find my spare key.

Now, here’s the thing about being drunk: every idea feels like a genius plan. Walking home on shaky legs? Great idea. Inviting a man over for a sleepover? Fantastic idea. Deciding to make a grand entrance like I’m Beyoncé at the Grammys? Pure brilliance.

I stumbled into the house, shoes in one hand, dignity nowhere in sight. To my surprise, he was already inside, waiting like a patient saint. “Wait for me in the bedroom!” I slurred, waving dramatically as I disappeared into the bathroom.

“I’ll show him flames, stars, and paradise,” I muttered to myself in the bathroom mirror, swaying like a ship in a storm. I was biting my lip like some soap opera vixen, except I forgot you’re supposed to do that lightly. It hurt. But I pushed through. I was committed to the performance.



Wrapped in my robe (yes, I double-checked this time it wasn’t Spider-Man), I strutted out of the bathroom with all the confidence of a runway model after one too many margaritas. My hips were swinging wildly, my steps more of a stumble, and I was whispering promises about galaxies and fireworks as I approached the bed.

My grand moment? To shake my booty and drive him wild. The reality? I shook it a little too enthusiastically, lost my balance, and went down like a felled tree. Face-first onto the bed, arms flailing.

The last thing I remember was mumbling, “Welcome to paradise,” before the wine and embarrassment teamed up and knocked me out cold.

The next morning, I woke up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains and the sound of soft laughter. I groggily turned my head to see him sitting in a chair, sipping coffee, and scrolling on his phone.

“You okay there, Beyoncé?” he asked with a smirk.

Apparently, he’d tried to wake me up, but after a few failed attempts and some incoherent mumbling about stars, he gave up and let me sleep. “I didn’t want to risk your ‘flames and paradise’ speech turning into something else,” he added, chuckling.

And that’s how my first sleepover with my new boyfriend became less about romance and more about him learning I’m a walking disaster. The good news? He stayed for breakfast. The bad news? I still can’t look at wine without blushing.

Moral of the story: Wine may boost your confidence, but it won’t save you from gravity or from making promises about stars and paradise you can’t keep. Always check your balance before shaking your booty, and maybe, just maybe, save the seduction attempts for sober Saturdays."