Saturday night was a rather drunken one for all concerned, and in fact when I arrived home I discovered my flatmates sprawled hopelessly on the couch together, and the first thing Canada said to my relatively cheery "good morning" was a desperate, apologetic "I threw up in the bathtub! I'm sorry! I cleaned it!" I possibly shouldn't have been as pleased with this news but frankly it needed a good scrub anyway, and I prefer to find the silver lining where I can.
I'd like to relate a small conversation between myself and a friend - we shall refer to her henceforth as the Honey Brahdger, for reasons that make me sigh and pinch my nose. In any case, the Honey Brahdger called me in the morning to basically moan incoherently like a beached, drunken whale.
Honey Brahdger: Oh my god, brah, seriously.
Me: Feeling rough?
Honey Brahdger: I have had many, many hangovers in my life, but I am currently redefining what the word means.
Me: (wincing in sympathy) Oh dear.
Honey Brahdger: You know when, when.... when you're crawling around on the bathroom floor, and vomiting, and crying and wishing you were dead?
Me: Um, sure.
Honey Brahdger: I'd give anything to feel like that right now.
Me: Oh, wow.
After a few hours, when I'd had a chance to shower and eat and generally start to feel like a normal human again, I text her to check in.
Me: How are you feeling now, brah?
Honey Brahdger: I'm dying on the couch. I feel like someone has violently ripped me open and fucked every organ in my body.
I paused for a moment to consider my response.
Me: So is that... like... better....worse....what?
Honey Brahdger: Yeah actually it IS better.
Me: Good. Good. Maybe you should drink less.
Honey Brahdger: LOL.
Me: Yeah, I thought so. You know I'm going to blog about this.
Honey Brahdger: I expected nothing less.