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I went out last night. Not a big shocker, I know. It was pretty good. Met a few people I haven’t seen for a while, drank some godawful things (like 1/3 of a bottle of cherry wine, blargh!) and had some good conversations till I got too drunk to follow them and went home to my boyfriend. So far so good, right?
Well, this morning I woke up hung over and with a massive attack of post-drunkenness anxiety. This is also business as usual for me, so I didn’t completely freak out. I did, however, put on the outfit I was wearing last night and mentally prepared for the Sunday morning walk-of-shame home. It was as expected. Nicely dressed people on their way home after a wedding passed me as I stumbled, in my very short skirt, unstable on my high heels and with a cleavage like no other, onwards. And then it happened. Then a bird flew by and shat on me. That’s right. A bird shat on me. In my hair.
I feel this day is going to suck.
Well, this morning I woke up hung over and with a massive attack of post-drunkenness anxiety. This is also business as usual for me, so I didn’t completely freak out. I did, however, put on the outfit I was wearing last night and mentally prepared for the Sunday morning walk-of-shame home. It was as expected. Nicely dressed people on their way home after a wedding passed me as I stumbled, in my very short skirt, unstable on my high heels and with a cleavage like no other, onwards. And then it happened. Then a bird flew by and shat on me. That’s right. A bird shat on me. In my hair.
I feel this day is going to suck.
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