Don't do this: Things I hate as a sober person at holiday parties

It's my fifth sober Christmas, which means two very important things:

1) I'm bored by your novelty holiday drink menus (just pour me some Perrier and get out of my face);

2) You are probably going to annoy me at your party

Which isn't to say it's you, personally. In my defence, I am usually annoyed in general (and if not annoyed, second-hand embarrassed about something you've done). But Christmas brings with it a special edition of People Being Terrible, as if tinsel and repeated screenings of Home Alone justify an onslaught of the worst possible traits.

Here is what I, a sober person, hate most about being around you, a person who is actively recreating the worst party scenes in any movie.

1. Unsolicited hugs/physical contact

I get it, we're all very merry. Ho, ho, ho, etc., it's great to see you. If we are friends, I will hug you. If we are not, do not touch me.

Here's the thing about drunk people at parties: they (and probably you) love to hug.

They love it so much that they will often hug the shit out of you when you're just trying to monopolize the shrimp ring in solitude. "[Your name!]" they will shout, as if you didn't just see them at work earlier that afternoon. "You look amazing!"

So to start, I know. Thank you. I choose my outfits wisely, so I can promise I will not attend anything if I don't look amazing. (And we'll get back to this in a moment.) Second, do not hug me. When did we start hugging? Did I ask for this? Were my full-of-shrimp hands a giveaway for my desire to move into this new realm of familiarity?

When did we start hugging? Did I ask for this?

Son, I am stone cold sober and am one lap around the party away from silently fleeing into that dark night and freeing myself from the obligation of having had to be at this thing.

99% of the time, our only interaction is liking each other's tweets, and only under the pressure of seeming like supportive colleagues.

So this means we do not hug. We do not kiss. You do not touch me in any way, unless it's to offer to hold a napkin full of snacks that I can't juggle between my two occupied hands. I don't care that you're a friendly drunk: you're standing way too close to me.

2. Over-the-top compliments

So let's return to this: "You look amazing!" Cool, as mentioned, I am aware. I am very attuned to my aesthetic, and I'm not about to go to a fancy thing wearing sweatpants because I've spent way too much money on formal slacks.

But also: I don't care.

Here's what you, a drunk person, can say to me, a sober person (or any person, TBH), without making me feel uncomfortable: "You look nice!" "Nice" is the flattest, emptiest word in the history of the planet. It is to be said the way you would address your best friend's grandma, and it is not to be accompanied by lingering eye contact or a drawn-out stare that spans up and down.

Of course, there are exceptions.

Do we talk all the time? Do we usually talk about outfits and how the other looks (in a consensual way?) Have I asked you what you think of my very great coat? Or, are you eight beers in and ready to party?

Also, I cannot return your compliment because if you are eight beers in, you have likely stopped worrying about how your tie looks and you resemble Don Draper in seasons six and seven of Mad Men. So I will just say "Yeah!"

3. Asking why I'm not drinking

Between you and me, my grown-up Christmas wish is never to be asked this question again. But "Merry Christmas!" you will say, while likely wearing tinsel and a holiday bow as a hat because it's 10:30 p.m. and why wouldn't you be? "Why aren't you drinking?"

And I will stand there, smiling politely, thinking of ways I will seek vengeance for being asked this ridiculous question for the millionth time.

I will gesture to my cranberry ginger ale and say, "I am!" hoping you will get the hint that I hate you.

And you will say, "No, I mean –" and then, because you do not understand that you and I now have very different definitions of a good time, I will say, "Because I am addicted to alcohol." And you will feel foolish and I will feel fine about it.

4. Spilling too many secrets

It is a fact that at every Christmas party, all drunk people will seek out the few sober attendees and tell them things they did not want to hear. They will lean in and talk about their long, drawn-out affair with the copywriter, or how they regret having children with the spouse you are currently talking to, or they will tell you what so-and-so said about such-and-such and blah-blah-blah.

While you may think this is fun, it is not. It is the least amount of fun. It is not gossip time with a pal, it is not a bonding activity with a crush. Instead, it is TMI that has you trapped as whatever-his-name divulges (while standing way too close, BTW) that he always liked your best friend and that is uncomfortable because he is married to your other best friend.

It is horrific.

And it always happens in the area of the room that has only one exit far, far away from where you are standing. It is in this moment that you will pray for death, and if not death, then an appearance from Satan, to whom you can sell your soul in exchange for a quick escape.

5. A lack of any non-alcoholic drink

Happy holidays! I don't want your tap water. I don't want your ice cubes melted into a jar, I don't want the juice in your fridge that expired in April. I don't want milk, I don't want coffee cream.  I would also rather ingest poison than drink whatever green juice is.

It isn't hard to buy a bottle of Sprite.

It's not a feat to grab some Evian.

It's not a huge ask for a bottle of room temperature water you bought from a gas station.

But alas, here we are. And here I am, drinking the 0% whatever-I-brought-from-home and judging you and your kin for spending $395825 on booze without grabbing even a three-pack of juice boxes. So I'll make it easy: for every bottle of my own water I drink at your home, I will steal one gift from under the tree. Maybe that's why the Grinch was so mad.

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