I woke up on Sunday morning splayed across the futon in the living room at 4:30 am in my pyjamas.
This was a horrible shock. Mostly because what felt like five seconds beforehand Mr Maybe (who was unconscious on the sofa) and I had been on a date night and enjoying a few cocktails together. I didn’t understand why I was now in bed. Where was the bar? Why was I in my pyjamas? Did I teleport here? … and why did my knee hurt so goddamn much?! I remember freaking out inwardly for a second before it felt like my brain would internally melt from the effort of coherent thought.
How did I get here? What the hell was going on? I needed answers, so I got to my feet and padded over to Mr Maybe who sleepily grunted that I had gotten changed and passed out.
Me: “But – I don’t remember doing any of that. We were in the bar a minute ago! I felt fine!”
Mr Maybe: “Yes, but the moment you got off your bar stool and stood up - the booze hit you.”
Me: “Oh god…” *feeble voice* “Was I awful?”
Mr Maybe: “Well, I have recorded a few video’s of you prancing down the street. And then you walked into the doorway of the Kebab house and wouldn’t stop laughing.”
Me: “Oh god… But that isn’t me! I don’t do things like that!”
Mr Maybe: “I know you don’t usually – but last night… you did.”
Me: “I’m sorry.”
Mr Maybe: “It’s okay babe, just go to sleep.”
I suddenly realised I couldn’t see my handbag anywhere.
Me: “Okay… Um, where’s my handbag?”
Mr Maybe: “I don’t know – but you had it the last time I noticed.”
I pottered downstairs to see my clothes splayed across the laundry airer. Including a boot. Which was resting, unzipped and at a jaunty angle on the top.
I did not remember any of this. This is very scary. I wouldn’t call myself a “control freak” but that hasn’t stopped me from being described as one plenty of times by the people who know me – so you can imagine how not being able to remember huge chunks of my actions the previous evening was successfully scaring me shitless.
I don’t “do” things like get drunk and blackout. I’m not a party girl. I’m more of a “cuddle up around a warm log fire with a good book / movie” kind of girl. I mean, this is what I looked like when I was in upper school:
This is not the face of a person who was drinking cider around the back of the bike sheds. It’s the face of someone who spent a lot of her Friday nights watching ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ re-runs in her pyjamas.
Alcohol has always been something that I can either take or leave and to be honest, I prefer fruit juice and the occasional mid-week glass of wine. The only time that I have ever blacked out and forgotten chunks of the night before was when I went to a summer barbecue and someone thought it would be funny to spike my drink – and I ended up doing a poo on my parents front lawn.
That was not a proud moment.
However, this was summing up as a close second. I was both glad and horrified that at least Mr Maybe had been there, because who knows what could have happened otherwise? The only problem with that was Mr Maybe had been there… with his camera phone… witnessing his girlfriend acting like a total lunatic.
Oh the humanity.
Splurges and pockets of time were coming back to me in unpleasant little waves so I went back upstairs to the futon, had a glass of water and tried to go back to sleep.
The day had started off perfectly to begin with. It was a day that Enid Blyton would have been proud of. Mr Maybe and I had woken up together, had breakfast, went for a ride on a couple of Boris bikes (my first bike ride in a decade), I had managed not to die by getting sucked under a bus and crushed to death (yay me) - and then we had lunch at the Herman Ze German in Embankment.
After that it was on to the Roadhouse in Covent Garden for happy hour and then finally to the Bird and Ape – a gorgeous little bistro pub in the heart of london that had only recently opened in October. It’s tres chic. Honestly. You should go there, and a loo review will shortly follow.
We decided to partake of a little drink called “Apple Brandy Fizz”
We left two drinks later, which is when things got a little fuzzy to be honest. I can’t remember leaving the bar at all although Mr Maybe tells me I flagged a taxi down. This seems to be where things started to go wrong. I think this is mainly because one hotdog consumed earlier that day does not a full stomach make.
At some point during the ride Mr Maybe must have said he wanted to go for a Kebab because I could see mine was still untouched in its wrapper on the dining room table.
Me: “Did we get a Kebab?”
Mr Maybe: “Yea. You said you were really hungry and fell through the doorway of the kebab place.”
Me: “Is that why my knee hurts?”
Mr Maybe: “Probably”
Mr Maybe: “You also ran up to the security guard in the tesco metro when I was buying milk and gave him a huge hug. But it was okay, he thought it was funny.”
Me: *cringing even more* “Oh god!“
I decided to leave it there. I didn’t want to know any more. It was like some body-snatching alien had taken control of my body last night and taken it for a joy ride. A theory that intensified when I heard Mr Maybe playing back the video’s he had recorded the next morning.
It was my voice – but I couldn’t remember saying that I wanted a Kebab. Or the giggling. Or the ministry of silly walks that I did down the road. It was like an evil twin was out there somewhere. Only, instead of being an “evil” twin my twin was like some kind of free love hippy that was all about hugging security guards and scurrying around naughtily like a toddler high on sugar while my long-suffering boyfriend tried unsuccessfully to chivvy me back to our flat.
But that was yesterday and this was now – and my head felt like I had a neumatic drill going of in my head. All I can say is I was VERY WISE to have stocked up on aspirin the week before.
We spent the rest of Sunday pottering around the flat, gorging on beef stew that Mr Maybe had whipped up in the slow cooker, banishing the sunshine by keeping the curtains shut and watching ‘Archer’ on a loop.
Mr Maybe even made a pineapple upside down cake . It was pretty impressive. Like hangover first aid.
You see, this is why I love that man.
Unfortunately I have a feeling I wont be living this down any time soon.
Especially if Facebook is anything to go by:
Seriously. It’s been two days and I STILL ache all over.
All I can say is, never again… In the name of all that is good and pure in the world. Please… Never ever again.