The Morning After: A Hypothetical Scenario

Here is a hypothetical  progression of thought that a woman law student may endure the morning after drinking:

  • while eyes are still closed, reach arm out to feel for random man next to me in bed. Kick feet around, too, just in case he is hiding at the end of the bed. Finally just scream out: “Anyone else here?!?!” as loudly as I can.
  • open eyes.
  • peer over my bed to examine for puke. Smile at my clean floor and bed skirt. I am so classy.
  • get up and make bed as precisely as possible, all while avoiding mirrors.
  • look through my outgoing BBMs and texts with one eye closed (it somehow calms me). Send apology texts that don’t sound like apology texts because I totally don’t regret booty calling you at 3:45 a.m. and sending you every single BBM icon in my phone and then calling you an asshole when you don’t respond even though I CAN SEE THAT YOU READ MY MESSAGES. No, I totally don’t regret that. So I’ll just check in with you to see how your morning’s going. Boo.
  • clean out my “party purse” and put all my change and stray bills back in my wallet. If I can’t control my life, I can at least keep my accessories tidy.
  • smell my arm. It smells like beer. I don’t drink beer. Must have been talking to boys that drink beer.
  • examine my clothes from the night before that are strewn over my couch, television and stove top. Smell them. Smell like beer. I must have been talking to boys that drink beer. And then spill beer on pretty unassuming girls
  • answer 8 a.m. call from parents. “Did I have a fun night?” Sure did. “What are you going to do today?” Oh, you know. Charity work and train for my marathon and read a book and write a book and finally buy all those pics on my Shutterfly account I have been meaning to purchase for THREE YEARS. I don’t tell them that I plan to bunker down with a Lifetime movie or five, commercials and all, while gobbling sandwiches and telling myself that I am never drinking again.
  • check email. Fist pump with spirit fingers for not using my computer while under the influence.
  • scan credit card statement online. Damn myself for having charged that $3 slice of pizza at 2: 30 a.m. If you used cash, it didn’t happen.
  • call bar and leave a message. If you find my credit card, camera, six strands of green and pink Mardi Gras beads, or self dignity I left on your stoop, please return immediately. Ok, thank you. Bye.

The End.

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