My Maiden May

So it has come to an end. Or not quite. It is May 29 as I write once more.
About one month ago, I made a deal with a few friends: I would not consume any alcohol for one month straight. The idea of Maiden May was born. The challenge seemed futile, whereas my friends expected it to be a true test. Quite wrong they were indeed, as I have now almost succeeded in the task.

The first question everybody asks me when I tell them about my Maiden May is “why?!”, accompanied by a horror-struck expression on their face. My reply is childishly simple: “why not?” The reason why I agreed on the deal, apart from 24 bottles of Duvel, is because it is a fairly easy thing to do. All it takes is a no thanks at the right moment at the right time. The beauty of it is that the ability to say no thanks is never jeopardized, because of the full mind-control that comes with alcohol-free days.

Granted, though, there is a downside. Quite a massive one, to be fair: I have seen things no sober man should ever see. I have attended some parties during my Maiden May (which explains the occasional horror-struck face), but I never made it very late. Except for once, when I saw the world around me turn into some sense-forsaken land full of waggling, wobbly legs, barely supporting the attached bodies hovering above them. Humanity is severely ill. Not only because of whatever global issue you can think of, but because of man’s desire to knock himself out on a regular basis, drinking way too much and hitting on way too many girls in one night. I never noticed that before, probably because I was too often one of them.

It’s only when you’ve seen it (that is, from a sober pair of eyes), that you realize it’s some really weird behaviour. The headache the next morning is barely worth it, and the excessive flirting is usually forgotten by all involved parties which hardly makes it a sensible thing to do.

My Maiden May has brought me wisdom. That, and 24 bottles of Duvel, which I’ll gladly get to as soon as I can.