Dublin
So, we Irish are known to dabble in the art of drinking.
And because we're the land of saints and scholars and all that, we've named every stage of drunkeness in the transition period. Because, in fairness, they do all mean something totally different.
Use our handy rating system the next time you're out, and see which nifty word you were that night!
Music's good, booze is sweet and you're surrounded by good value mates. You're drunk off the atmosphere alone.
Merry can occur half a pint in.
Two pints. You're having more fun.
Your first spirit drink has arrived. The idea of a nightclub starts to sound appealing, and you start to think how much you just love having fun.
You're well on your way. Both metaphorically and physically – i.e. you're at the ATM en route to the club where you'll spend the next five hours shouting.
Suddenly you're much friendlier than usual and everyone looks really good tonight.
You see double of yourself in the mirror if you shake your head, or move at all.
And... when did I spill Jaeger on myself?
If you're a girl: You're getting in pictures with the woman spraying deodorant in the bathroom.
If you're a boy: You've gotten slapped for asking a redhead can you use her hair as a lighter.
You pull your top up into a crop and wondered why you've never done this before now.
You've also Snapchatted the fuck out of your evening because why the fuck not? YOLO.
You're praying to God the DJ hears you screeching 'PLAY B*WITCHED C'EST LA VIE' from the dancefloor.
You've gotten with your mate's younger sister.
Ewps.
You're so hungry you would kill and eat a small animal if it came within a 10-metre radius. Although when you see someone throwing their ring up outside the club, you feel sober as a judge so you down three drinks and leave for an afters.
Walking is hard and everyone's in your way and where is your phone?
You have returned to your pre-birth state of having underdeveloped organs and being wildly vulnerable.
You remain in the foetal position, atop a pile of coats and with your shoes firmly tied on, until coaxed out by the smell of Domino's and shame.
READ NEXT: The 11 Drunken Texts We're All Guilty Of Sending On A Night Out
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