Sirens and spotlights were blaring through my window. I suspect the neighbor finally did her husband in. My mouth feels like I made out with a litter box and my head is tearing itself apart.
Wait… sirens don’t sing…
Slowly, the knowledge that it is my phone rending space and time apart inside my cranium, my hand slowly scuttles its way out from the relative comfort of my bedspread catacomb and drags my phone in with me.
“Hello?” Is that my voice?
“Hey girl, you out of bed yet’” said the overly cheerful voice, crackling across digitized lines of communication.
“No.” Bitch. “What time is it?”
“It’s only about four, in the afternoon.” Her laughter was like a serious of bombs detonating between my ears.
“Thanks for calling. You do realize I feel like shit, right?”
“I kind of figured, yeah, but I also figured you might want your pants back”
“Okay. Um, why do you have my pants…?” I remember music, green… beer? God, that was awful.
“You do realize that stripping for free is not the best idea when hammered, thankfully, we made bank last night, your pants were the only things I could find.”
“Good bye. I’m going to go wake up now.”
“Sure, girl,” more inappropriately jovial laughter “See you in a few hours to split the take.”
One day I’m going to remember not to drink till I can’t remember… or undress.
“Oh, and one last thing, doing a jig without a bra is… um… comical.”