I think my Body Of A Certain Age is trying to tell me something. And I’ve been a bit slack about listening lately. In fact I’ve had my ears stuffed with cotton wool because I’m not that keen on hearing the message. If you’re my age, you’ll understand this. Once you get past 40, the daily news from the BOACA is rarely information you want to think about:

“And here’s the news just in: Joints have started to ache in the hip and knee regions, especially first thing in the morning; crows feet and laughter lines around the eyes are on the increase, followed closely by threats of a deepening frown line; digestion CEO’s have noticed a worrying go-slow trend in metabolism departments, consequently half-yearly figures were up; and new satellite pictures have captured the widening of the grey & white racing stripe down the middle area of the head. Authorities have declared it a natural disaster.”

Who wants to hear that?!

Turns out I should have taken notice on the weekend. BOACA brought in the big guns to make its point last Sunday morning, the morning after the Big Girls Night Out. I only had three freaking drinks. THREE. Two ciders and one gin & lemonade. Over the course of five or so hours. Sweet FA, really. Or so I thought.

Literally one second after I opened half an eyelid, BOACA swung into action and rammed the message home – courtesy of Massive Headache and Dry Mouth, and consolidated it with a small but effective cameo role from Tired & Lethargic.

Several panadols later (along with copious glasses of water) I raised a white flag in surrender. Okay, okay, I get it, I said. Message received loud and clear. Because it appears that BOACA does not like the processing of alcohol. At ALL.

I should preface this by saying that I am not, and have never been, a big drinker. Oh, I had my moments in my late teens and early 20’s when I could knock back loads of drinks over the course of a night out and wake up the next day feeling fine. That was, until I got pregnant. All those hormones meant that alcohol didn’t taste so good, so I more or less abstained for the whole nine months which reduced my tolerance to just about zero. I discovered this little fact about 6 weeks after I had Son #1. It was my birthday and so I had a glass of champagne to celebrate, as you do. Within ten minutes of that bubbly hitting the back of my throat, I was off my trolley. Extremely animated. Laughing hysterically at everything. And then all of a sudden, needing to go to bed. Everyone thought it was hilarious apparently, but I didn’t know that because I was already asleep. Happy birthday, indeed!

Because of that night – and the fact that my tolerance has never really recovered – I earned a nickname amongst my friends. They call me ‘The Five Dollar Woman’, as that was approximately how much money you had to spend to put me under the table. (It’s probably more like the Seven Dollar Fifty Woman now, taking inflation into account, lol) Cheap as chips, at any rate, that was me. A real lightweight in the drinking stakes. But yet a very affordable gal to take out on the town!

Anyway after this weekend’s effort I’ve been thinking (while resting on the couch) perhaps a change is in order. Maybe I should bite that bullet and embrace a new non-drinking way of life. It’s not like I drank lots to begin with. So no booze wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, would it?

I’m not saying I’ll never drink alcohol ever again. That would probably be a rather rash and eventually untrue statement. No, all I’m saying is that for now, I’m happy to give it a miss.

So tell me. Do you know anyone who doesn’t drink? Do you think we as a society drink too much? And how much is too much?