In the folklore of nightlife and revelry, no creature shines brighter than the Wassail.
These gluttonous beings thrive on excess. They populate the grandest nights of our lives - if only we could remember them.
As we survey the aftermath of a big night out and find only empty bottles and remnants of devoured and struggle to comprehend how the night spiraled into chaos we often remember glimpses of the Wassail and easily dismiss them as 'pink elephants'.
Wassails infiltrate parties cloaked in light-reflecting shells that create a festive vibe while concealing their true form. Their powerful antennae are finely attuned to radiate pure exuberance through a psychic fog that lures mammals into a stupor of debauchery.
"One more drink. One more dance," our minds whisper as we obey.
The first sign a Wassail’s is close is when the words "pregaming" or "preloading" is uttered. By that moment, it is likely too late.
This captivating suggestion sprouts the seed of excess, and as the night intensifies, the Wassail transforms into a relentless siphon soaking in the joy and merriment, leaving behind a trail of empty bottles and half-remembered laughter.
These creatures savor the crescendo of parties until the last drop is consumed, the final slice of pizza disappears, and the last dancer collapses.
Only then does the Wassail retreat to a cozy hideaway, biding its time until dawn, when it will stir discussions of the idea of “hair of the dog,” eager to resurrect the revelry from the ashes of the previous night’s oblivion.
While the parties it orchestrates undeniably thrill us, our inability to remember them poses a troubling question: Did we truly live those good times or merely imagine them? As the Wassail’s influence fades, we grapple with the sobering realization that the parties we remember hold far more value than those submerged in forgetfulness.
The Wassail may fill our nights with merriment, but its aftermath reveals a stark truth: it is the fleeting nature of our experiences that renders them most precious. In the end, it is those memories—those ephemeral, joyous instances—that we hold dearly, long after the music fades.
So party hard, but oust the Wassail before they take hold and remember your epic nights out.