Don't be THAT guy

A friend of mine told me that the best advice she ever gave her kids was 'Don't be THAT guy'. Don't be the boy who combines Mentos and Diet coke in the parking lot of Rite Aid. Don't be the girl arrested behind middle school, charging $5 a pop for sexual favors. Don't be the dad at the soccer game wearing the too-tight tracksuit with his name embroidered on the chest, who yells so much at their own kid that even the opposing team's parents and coach are cheering the kid on.

My husband and I went to a wedding on Saturday night and had not one but two THAT guys at our table! Or, I should say, THAT girl. One of them, in her late 20s actually introduced herself as "Eleanor, but my gay friends call me Ellie" (So ... 'Eleanor' then). She then butchered my name and had the nerve to ask if my accent was Irish. Even before the main course was served she was three sheets to the wind, telling everyone her life story before barfing, passing out and finding her second wind in time to heckle the best man's speech. When we left at midnight, she was still drinking.

The second woman, who was probably in her late 50s, initially rolled her eyes at the obnoxious behaviour of our table companion but quickly became her dance partner. As more alcohol was consumed she became obsessed with men's ties, particularly those of the groomsmen, dancing over and grabbing said neck wear, then writhing erotically with it. Thankfully, she passed out reasonably early on and had to be escorted back to her hotel.

I'm not a volume drinker so it always amazes me that people of any age can let themselves get so plastered that they literally can't control bodily functions. It's sad, really. So I've got to agree that the advice stands. I think I'll pass it on to my kids.