The morning after

2 Nov

I want to vomit and I want to die. Though not necessarily in that order. Long night of drinking turns into a long day of cocktail flu. Swore up and down I wouldn’t drink that much and wouldn’t stay out too late.

Four cocktails and two beers later I looked at the clock and noticed it was past 1:00 in the morning. Guess I was wrong. Thank god I didn’t order one last round at 1:30. Can only imagine how amazing having my stomach pumped would feel.

But we had such a magical and romantic time. He spent hours talking about his wife, and how if she ever cheated he’d leave her, and how he knew they’d be together forever, and how lucky they both felt to have found one another, and how much he loved their new baby. Really romantic. And then there was that awesome time when we were at the bar and our legs accidentally touched so he totally readjusted himself and moved as far away as possible without actually changing seats. It was great.

I want to vomit.  And die.

And then make out with him.  But not necessarily in that order.

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