What’s in my bed?

My Bed 1998 by Tarcey Emin

As I get older, my capacity to deal with a hangover gets worse and worse.

My ability to recall the events of the previous night also appears to diminish with age.

My ever decreasing  skills at coping with the aftermath of a drunken night out manifested itself this weekend.

You see, a very good friend of mine turned the ripe old age of 27 this week.

Despite the treacherous snowy conditions we decided to head out for a few drinks to celebrate. There were going to be a lot of old friends going. I was looking forward to it.

Things quickly took a turn for the messy. We all got very drunk and I woke up this morning feeling like death.

I felt awful this morning. I awoke to find myself on top of my duvet. The room spinning, my head pounding, my room smelling like alcohol and my breath tasting so bad that I think it could have cut through a bank vault!

I needed water.

I fumbled for the big glass that lives next to my bed. After knocking the contents of my bedside table to the ground I found my glass.

Empty. Damn!

A trip to the kitchen was in order.

As I began to gain my bearings I got the feeling that something wasn’t right.

I looked to my left. The area of the duvet next to me is not flat but is, for want of a better word, is bulging.

Clearly, something…or someone is under my duvet.

Too nervous to inspect, my mind races. How? What? When? Who?

I quickly relay the evening in my head:

Indoors: Mario Kart, beer, feeling good. 1st Bar: catch ups, couple more beers, still feeling good. 2nd Bar: laughs, shots, cocktails, feel light headed. 3rd bar: rum & cokes, feeling woozy. Club: Jager Bombs, drunk people…memories missing…a dancefloor…i’m doing the robot…

After that, I have nothing.

I heard noises in the living room. I crept out my room to see C was stirring, he had passed out. He looks worse than I feel! I talk to him.

“I think someone might be in my bed. Any ideas?”

A smile engulfed his face.

“No idea. Last thing I recall was you doing the robot, you’re getting very good by the way…”

He had a point. Those hours practicing I have been putting in are paying off.

He continues, it returned my thoughts to our current issue…

“We lost you before closing. We went to the casino. Tried calling you but you obviously didn’t answer!”

He then squirmed, grimaced and made a mad dash for our bathroom. I was on my own for this one.

I took a deep breath (and was reminded how awful my breath was!) and strolled with purpose into my bedroom. I wanted this mystery to end.

I grabbed the duvet and dramatically flung it away from the bed.

I looked down. What I saw filled me with despair.

There was a barely touched, ridiculously large pizza in my bed.

Beneath the pizza there was also a pile of last nights clothes and several pillows.

I looked in the mirror. I sighed. When did I become the guy who wakes up hungover, confused, and alone with an uneaten pizza in his bed?!

The worse thing was having to explain to C that I had not somehow managed to drunkenly woo a young lady but had, instead, spent my night curled up with a warm greasy breaded circle of cheese, tomato, ham and pineapple.

He laughed at the time but I could also tell that I went down in his estimation a little bit.

I think it may be time re-evaluate my life to some degree.

I don’t even like pineapple!


About Project Southsea

I blog mostly about my adventures in awkwardness.
This entry was posted in Humour and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to What’s in my bed?

  1. Tracey Emin eat your heart out. . .

  2. What a great post – I remember only too well what a real bad hangover can feel like! 🙂

  3. sociopathicuttlefish says:

    Sounds like drunk you was trying to look out for hungover you.

  4. vodkablogs says:

    Very funny, even in the late 20’s the hangovers are getting tougher and rougher.

  5. Tracey Emin ate my pizza. Good title for a film.
    And a pricelessly funny story

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