It's a Saturday night and I'm singing to Don McLean's American Pie, burnt to a crisp, dangerously hungover and I have no plans, and I couldn't be happier. The simple things are sometimes what matter most.
My drinking escapades never to fail to amuse, embarrass and surprise me. Sometimes for the best, sometimes not so much. Last night was no different. A few drinks with food turned into a few of us heading home, involving a quick shower, an even quicker outfit change and by the stupidly early time of half six, one of my friends and I were out resuming our drinking. Lovely weather, a couple of cold refreshments and you're sorted, yes? Well, not quite. Eventful, as all my nights out are. Cue an unhealthy amount of trebles, shots of tequila at seven and jagerbombs at eight. Our "few drinks" rapidly turned into an all-nighter, rolling in at half 3, with messy make up and even messier hair. Today I smell like a brewery. Kind of gladly, kind of not. A good night? A bad night? Who cares, my state speaks for itself I think. A photo would be painful to take, and even more painful to upload. Just picture me as a very hungover, rough girly (with exceptionally burnt shoulders!) So, is it worth it? The banging headache, the nauseating feeling that makes you wish you'd never been introduced to a vodka mixer, never mind five, the soul-destroying feeling of "What did I do last night?" until you piece together the night before. The arguments, the tears, the confrontations, the spilled drinks, the sticky shoes and sore feet. Yes. It's worth it, because sometimes, it's not all screams and nasty words being spat left, right and centre. It's not always arguments and fights and petty disagreements and wrong decisions and bad timing. Just sometimes. And even then, we're young enough to accept that mistakes aren't worth dwelling on. The bad nights make the good nights even better, and a night out isn't complete without one bad decision. After all, the only thing that should be neat, is the vodka.
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