Of The Drunken Twin Connection

Drunk Twins

I’m going to make a grand assumption and believe that everyone knows about the Twin Connection. I mean, a generation who grew up watching Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen movies, at the very least, should understand that twins are able to sense when the other is in trouble, their stomach hurts, pissed off, keeping a secret, overtly happy, has a new love interest, and so forth. It’s a miraculous skill that can only be developed in the womb.

I’m not a twin – but I know some twins.

My dear friends Britney and Dawn recently turned 21, so I along with my friend Alleschea took them out for their 21-run. Basically, a bar hopping experience where they are expected, in fact, it’s a demand that they get so shitfaced they won’t be able to function properly for three days. We decked them out in adorable birthday hats, sashes, shot glass necklaces, and bracelets – they looked fantastic, though, their shy personalities initially made them want to take all their decorations off. That simply wasn’t an option, if they wanted free drinks, they were going to wear the hats – end of story.

So they wore the hats.

I must say, I was very impressed. As a light-weight if I have three drinks, odds are I’m not going to be able to function. But bar after bar, drink after drink – they seemed fine. Alleschea and I were highly disappointed, “We’re failing!” we ranted.

Until, the eighth drink.

From that point on I watched in bewilderment as the twins went through the various phases of drunkenness in unison. It was a miraculous sight. That eighth shot brought them to stage one, denial. They were fine, hardly feeling it, don’t see what the big fuss is all about. Sure they barely sense their own drunkenness, but from an outside perspective, their mannerisms all pointed to intoxicated.

After the ninth drink, they lost their filters. Suddenly, homophobic and racists slurs were being spun out of their mouth like they lived deep within the Bible belt. An outsider would have assumed the worst of them, defiantly never would have guessed the Britney herself is Bi, as their mouths continued to offend all who did not know them. Alleschea and I laughed, almost stunned by this sudden switch in behavior.

Their final drink, number eleven, sent them straight for the bathroom.

I felt like I was in a scene from a nineties teen movie. Britney throwing up in one stall, as Dawn throws up in the other. The bathroom smelled terrible, I could hardly tolerate the odor of vomit floating around the room. After awhile the spewing stopped (at the same time), and Dawn kicked her foot out of the stall. Poor girl, she missed the toilet, her shoe and calf were covered in regurgitated beverages. I was sympathetic, but not about to help clean up.

Eventually they were both ready to exit the stalls. They locked eyes on each other, and immediately Dawn collapsed on the floor, like a child pouting in timeout. Britney ran back into the stall and spent several minutes failing to throw up. I left them like that, unable to handle the stench.

I found Alleschea who had been watching the fries we ordered this whole time.

“I can’t deal with that smell anymore. Dawn’s fallen on the floor and Britney’s still in the stall,” I said.

“I know, it’s terrible. I’ll go check on them,” she said.

She was gone for all of three minutes when she came out and told me, “We’re being kicked out, someone complained.”

I grabbed the fries (but left the basket – I have manners), and we shuffled them out the door. Originally the plan was to escort our drunken twins to the car, quickly it became apparent that they wouldn’t be able to handle a ten minute car drive as walking sent Britney in the wrong direction. That girl is a drifter, I’ve never seen someone veer to the left so intensely when trying to walk in a straight line, it was like trying to control a distracted puppy. Dawn was just fumbling around and much easier to manage. So we led them to the dock by the river.

On the boardwalk they collapsed on the ground once more, and said what every belligerently drunk person says, “How did I get so drunk?” Um, I’m going to go with eleven drinks including a double long island that you had – but hey, I’m just guessing. Eventually they stood up and leaned over the edge toward the river.

I got to offer tips I never thought I would teach somebody – how to make yourself throw up in a, “there’s too much alcohol in my system,” situation.

“Just go back a centimeter,” I said. Of course, the booze ridden twins were initially confused. “If you want to make yourself throw up the alcohol, where ever your finger is hovering to make you dry heave – go back a centimeter.” It worked like a charm, and finally we were able to take them back to the car.

And so concludes my fifth 21 run (I have five more to go). The drunken twin connection is a thing, and if you ever get the chance to witness it – prepare to be stunned with amazement.

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