The morning after the night before

The morning after the night before

I awoke with a horrible taste in my mouth. The cheap red wine had left
a metallic taste and my tongue felt like a piece of Axminster.
I carefully opened one eye and a sharp pain the colour of fluorescent
orange pierced my left eyeball and seared right through to my
brain.
I gingerly opened the other eye and realised what I'd been trying to
focus on.

The sun was shining through a chink in the bright yellow curtains and
beamed a light onto the orange and purple coloured wallpaper. The
colours reflected on every surface and bounced around the room like
hundreds of dancing lightning bolts. I closed my eyes again.

It was enough to addle anyone's brain first thing in the morning let
alone a dehydrated, wine soaked 40 year old who should have known
better.

I felt something around my neck choking me. Panic turned to relief
when I realised it was my long dark hair, which had wrapped itself
around my throat and not the hairy hands of a serial killer.
I've had waist length hair since I was fourteen and usually tied it up
at night to prevent that very thing. But I couldn't really remember
much about the night before, except to say that I think I enjoyed
it.

I tried to turn over and ignore the pain in my head, but as I did so I
came face to face with the imitation sheepskin rug.
Having been used to a double bed, the single bed of Emily', (my equally
drunken best friend, lying on the sofa in the next room) was made much
smaller by Sheba her enormous German Shepherd who had taken up all the
room and left me with nowhere to go but the floor.

Sheba and I have a mutual agreement. We do not like each other. In
fact I think she hates me. If I didn't know any better I would swear
that she pushed me out of bed deliberately.

The bump on my head was evidence of an encounter with the bed - side
table on the way down.
I knew that I couldn't spend the rest of my life with my nose pressed
into the carpet. Even though the thought did cross my mind. I decided
that I wouldn't give Sheba the satisfaction of chewing on my decaying
flesh if I'd died there.

I willed my body up off the floor. I tried to walk but my legs felt as
if someone had stolen my bones in the night and replaced them with
soggy loo roll tubes.

The room started to spin clockwise. After a few seconds I regained my
balance and it was ok.
Then it spun the other way and I only just made it to the pan. "Urgghh
carrots!"
I looked into the bathroom mirror. Streaked red eye - balls stared back
at me, surrounded by last night' mascara. I looked like Alice Coopers
long lost sister.

I vaguely remember Emily spraying silver glitter in my hair. It seemed
like a good idea at the time. Now every sparkle hurt my eyes.
The tufts of stiff, erect tresses, reminded me of the battered old
Christmas tree that had been retired to the loft years ago. I couldn't
bear to look anymore.

I came out of the bathroom holding a cold wet flannel to my newly
acquired, swelling. Only to find Sheba, sitting inocently on my sside
of the bed. As if butter wouldn't melt in her very large mouth. Her
head cocked to one side with a twinkle in her eye.
"Was that a stupid smirk on her face?" I knew that dog thought it was
funny.

I got my own back later though. I tied her favourite soft toy to the
highest branch I could find in the garden. She spent the whole day
sitting underneath it. Willing it to get down.

Guess who had the last laugh!