Diets, Love and Other Impossible Feats

The Hangover

Something buzzed a few inches from me. I tried to ignore it, but the incessant noise was driving me further out of my drunken stupor.

I peeled my face from the pillow, opening one eye to hazily examine the room. I hadn’t even made it to bed. Hesitantly I sat up, groaning at the thumping in my head.

There on the coffee table, beside two empty bottles of wine and a discarded chocolate wrapper, was my phone. It lit up and buzzed again.

“Shit, who did I drunk text this time?” I asked myself.

I plucked the device from the sticky surface to discover three missed calls and several text messages – all from Steph.

Before I could take a look at them, someone started thudding on my front door.

“Rose? Are you in there? Please answer me,” I heard Steph yell.

A groan escaped my mouth as I stood up, the first wave of nausea almost forcing me to sit back down again. I gulped in some deep breaths and took a wobbly step towards the door.

I decided to make a quick detour to the bathroom, trying to rub off the mascara that had run down my cheeks and to finger comb the side of my hair which currently stuck up, but there was no getting rid of the pink indent covering my face, caused by me falling asleep against the zip of one of my many throw cushions. I gave up, gulping down a few mouthfuls of tap water in an attempt to get rid of my leathery, dry mouth.

“If you don’t open the door in the next two minutes I am going to kick it down…I’ll phone an ambulance or the police…Argh, just open the door goddammit!”

I hadn’t realised how worried she was.

“I’m coming,” I shouted.

I wobbled to the door, not taking the time to put on a dressing gown, undone the lock and swung the door aside.

Relief flooded Steph’s face as she stepped closer to give me a hug. I watched as she faltered, obviously getting a whiff of the stale alcohol. She leaned back instead and gave me a full examination with her pretty blue eyes, not even attempting to hide her disgust.

She barged past me when she was finished her scrutiny of my hairy legs, old knickers and saggy, braless boobs flopping about underneath my stained t-shirt from the day before. She headed straight for the kitchen.

“I was so worried! Your texts got worse and worse, and that drunk phone call!? I was ready to come over but both Harry and I had had a couple of glasses of wine ourselves. I fell asleep eventually but I woke this morning to read your last text, something about you having had enough. God, Rose, I thought I was gonna find you overdosed or something! Don’t do that to me again. Ever again!” she called from the kitchen as I heard the fridge popping open.

I shuffled back to my living area, “What are you talking about? I can’t remember texting you, or phoning you,” I said.

I picked up the phone again and quickly checked through the messages I sent, having to work hard at deciphering the later ones.

“Oh…Steph I am so sorry!” I exclaimed as a vague memory swam back, “I hadn’t meant it at all like it reads, I just meant that I am done with men and diets and my job and this horrible flat! I’m not suicidal!”

My friend emerged from the kitchen, holding a glass of her famous hangover cure.

She eyed the contents of my coffee table, trying to access the damage.

“So, what happened?” she said, placing the pint glass in front of me.

I began re-telling the events of the day before, reluctantly sipping at the remedy.