Gin doesn’t punch you in the vagina when you’re going in for a kiss.
Gin doesn’t remove its own nappy and spread faeces on your cream carpet. Then laugh.
Gin doesn’t suddenly decide it’s only eating ice cream or omelette this week.
Gin doesn’t ‘power-hug’ the cats.
Gin doesn’t fart in your mouth when you go in for a raspberry.
Gin doesn’t grab the Sky remote screaming ‘LOLA, LOLA, LOLA, LOLA’ whilst stamping on what’s left of your pelvic floor to see how long it is before your cave or wet yourself… (approx 37 seconds)
Gin doesn’t try to touch your eyeball after eating an orange.
Gin doesn’t wait for you to pay £6 for soft play then throw up in the ball pit so you have to leave. Quickly.
Gin doesn’t wait until you’ve turned your back for a split second then hide your mascara.
Gin doesn’t eat bran flakes without removing them from the box first.
Gin doesn’t hide all the f@*king shoes.
Gin will give you a big blurry gin cuddle whenever you want, tell you how thin you are, let you have a lie-in and is happy to stay at home in pyjamas all day… and that’s why from now on I will be choosing #gin (and condoms).