His White Mistress

I consider myself to be anti-drugs. After the odd cheeky smoke in my teens, I have never dabbled, or had the inclination to dabble with, anything harder. This is my stance. However, I had thought I was more lenient with other people taking drugs. Apart, that is, from cocaine.

I have a strong dislike for regular cokeheads:  it basically turns anyone who takes it into a bit of a twat. I hate the idea of snorting the stuff. I hate the fact that people snort the stuff from the backs of dirty pub cisterns or loo seats. I hate the arrogance that ensues, the absolute certainty that everything they say must be listened to and is the most important thing to ever have been said. Users say it sobers you up and keeps you up all night. I say I can stay up all night on alcohol alone and who doesn’t love feeling pissed?

Last weekend, Mr P partook in a line or two. This is not a regular occurrence and he hasn’t had any for a good three years. As he saw white lines, I saw red mist. I absolutely flipped and that’s not something I do often either.

We rowed for hours about it. He said he just felt like blowing off steam. I accused him of being disrespectful by not only lying to me about having already done some that evening but by then snorting a line in front of me. He said I was controlling. I said his slack jaw and dead, soulless eyes made me feel ill. There were tears. It was a bloody mess.

Mr P is not very good at apologies. I am too good at it. This time though, I promised myself that I wouldn’t back down, that I wouldn’t cave just to make life easier. I gave him a bit of a hard time the morning after as well until finally, finally, he apologised. I then apologised for being hysterical. Habits are hard to break. At least he said sorry first.

It won’t be the last time Mr P succumbs to his debauched side but I don’t think I’ll ever be cool with the idea of him doing this. Even if he warned me beforehand that he was having a big night, even if he snorted the stuff out of my sight, I think that I would still hate him doing this.

To be fair though, after the bollocking he got that night, I don’t think he’ll be looking to partake again for a good while yet.

This entry was posted in Comrades, Drunkety Drunk Drunk, Just a Little Bit About Me, Miss Ranty Pants, Sad Times, The Hairier Sex (usually). Bookmark the permalink.

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