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| Prawn Shame |
Today you are hearing from just one of your spinsters (Rosie), as Lauren has deserted me in favour of getting hopefully not quite as drunk as I was last night. I write this in the midst of one of my worst hangovers to date, possibly to remind myself that drinking half a bottle of Jack Daniels and countless swigs of el vino from a watering can isn't the greatest idea. I smell of what can only be described as cat piss ( I'm hoping this is just the odour of fermenting cider seeping from my underarms, rather than the former suggestion). I am missing my shoes. I have the remnants of 'i love charlotte' written on my face with god only knows what and crusting mascara is smeared down my cheek. My first thought is- good night. This is until my friends mum, who so kindly allowed us to stay, angrily informs my friend and I that a window has been broken, food has been smeared and thrown in various locations throughout the house and even more impressively someone has launched a prawn salad missile through said window and into the garden. This should be the moment when I tell you it all came flooding back to me, but alas, the dark void of last nights events offer no answers. Que the hangover cringe. Sometimes what you don't know don't hurt you but in the case of the hangover, memories of last nights events are needed to allow you to mourn that last scrap of dignity that you just lost. As we stumbled in the direction of a milkshake cafe and slow moving slugs and geriatrics overtook us, we attempted to piece together the hazy events of last night to little avail. What we did establish however, that despite being unsure of quite how the packet of croutons ended up stuffed behind a computer and why what appears to be mayonnaise is artfully smeared over the broken window that honesty was the best policy. Although your first reaction may be to DENY DENY DENY (we attempted to blame it all on my friends younger brother before realising he was already sleeping on our return) you will only dig your already spacious grave a little deeper.
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| The 'dafadildo' |
The second rule of surviving the rocky road of the hangover shame is to stay armed with as many soft drinks as physically possible.Your mouth will undoubtably taste like the cross between a spinster's ashtray and a dogs foot, meaning if your anything like us and think packing toothbrushes in your overnight bag is for pussies an alternative is needed. Ditch the diet coke and stick to its fuller fat friend for a sugary pick me up, and if keeping down solids is proving an issue drink copious amounts of smoothies and milkshakes for a more filling option. Post copious e-number laden confectionary you should b on your way to a more speedy recovery, allowing you to face apologies to the birthday girl for exposing her five year old brother to 'cock trumps' and a world of 'meateors' and 'acorns'.
A Spinster will never tell you to behave sensibly or to compromise on your 'happy-go-lucky' approach to drinking, buts its probably best not to start off the night on the train swigging Jack Daniels straight from the bottle and chatting excitedly about how you can't wait to be vomiting neat vodka in the toilet bowl the following morning. And a word of advice- don't hide dildo's in flowerpots.
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