There are many reasons that I, Lucy May, refrain from drinking sessions with other human beings, such as:

1.) I become the horniest woman you've ever seen

2.) I stop having control of my body after like 2 beers (I will fall on you and accidentally lick your face and have an awkward 3 second pause before I realise it)

3.) Along with the horny-ness, I also become one of the dreaded "stripper drunks"

4.) Man, I get gassy.

That night after an amazingly smooth-running Queen Concert is Amsterdam, I thought "meh. I'm a grown woman now. I've seen Roger with his everything out. I can do this." If only pep talking myself in the raggedy, shady as all hell bathroom of a bar would actually affect my actions.

It started out okay. Just a few quiet drinks. Poor me had 2 beers and couldn't even look at Roger without wanting to rip his pants of his body.
"My god. This stuff gets in my blood quick. Frederick, hold up a few fingers for me? Beautiful! I can still see."

But as if the night would stop there.

Knowing how bad of a drunk person I would be, Freddie Mercury decided to get me absolutely shit-faced. Which he did not fail to do as I remember quite little of the night and found myself in so much pain the next morning I wanted to murder every creature that dared utter a breath. I do remember ripping it up on a dance floor while people around me chanted in German. And that's when it started. I became the stripper/hornball drunk. I also remember Roger taking shots off my stomach once we returned to the hotel room and letting him shower me in champagne, something I had never previously had the pleasure of as an innocent girl. How Roger had changed that.

The next morning, I knew I had gone overboard drunk. I woke up in the shower, sticky from champagne, half-naked with Roger's hand gracefully on my boob. Ah yes, another day in the life of Lucy P May.

"Oi, Roger, wake up. You have stuff to do today. Roger you fruit bat." Shaking him with my foot, Roger lurched to life and by lurched I mean freaked out and smacked his head on the bathroom sink.
"Oh fuck!" He yelled, taking a hand to his forehead. I couldn't help but laugh it this, which only made my hangover worse. Both holding our heads in pain, we stared at each other.

"Lucy, am I even awake? I don't feel well at all."

"Throw up in the toilet and not near me, thanks."

Roger seemed to have a stomach made of steel because he was soon up and about, swallowing a few painkillers as he went. I, however, couldn't move. My entire body ached and any movement made me nauseous.

"Oh god. I'm meant to go shopping today." I moaned, after forcing myself to crawl back into bed. I watched Roger come out of the bathroom in his towel and pick out his outfit in silence, sending prayers to the Patron Saint of Painkillers for mercy.

"You know, this is all Frederick's fault. If I ever get out of bed, I'll rip him."

"I'd like to see that. You melt in his presence."

"Roger, that man is a child living in a cat house. But I'll admit, he knows how to party."

I've never understood how, after a night of pub-crawling and drowning in alcohol, Roger could still actually function as a human being. But before I could ask him, Freddie burst through the hotel room door, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Good morning, my lovelies!"

"I am going to KILL you, you little shit."

And that is why I, Lucy May, refrain from drinking sessions.