How to Survive the Morning After!
Holy bitch. You’ve done it again.
You promised to yourself that you would never ever drink again but seriously, who were you
kidding? Apparently J-Lo never drinks alcohol and you were totally trying to achieve the same vibes, but the tequila was calling and before you know it you’re crawling (literally) through your front door at 5 in the morning.
kidding? Apparently J-Lo never drinks alcohol and you were totally trying to achieve the same vibes, but the tequila was calling and before you know it you’re crawling (literally) through your front door at 5 in the morning.
By the feel of your head, you definitely ran into a few brick walls, and the cuts on your legs scream falling on the table while dancing, but lets hope that never happened eh? The only thing you need to worry about right now is not being sick and powering through this shit, even though the toilet is approximately 20 steps away and you’re definitely being sick right now. Fuck.
As you slowly begin to compose yourself, your body goes into red alert. It is definitely an urgent emergency and you start to consider that maybes this isn’t a hangover but that you’re actually dying. You googled your symptoms and apparently if you don’t take some paracetamol soon then you’re going to go blind. But then your mind flashes back to the 2 for 1 Sambucas last night. Okay, you need a serious talk with yourself!
You accidentally walk past a mirror and instantly regret it as you’re met with the hungover version of yourself, aka you dragged backwards through a bush. Your makeup is still caked on (could you get away with it staying on today?) but there’s one thing missing. Fuck. Where are my lashes. Lashes are a precious item, not only are they mink and feathery as fuck, but for some reason when drunk those 20 pound lashes become something you like to rip off wherever you land. Please, if there’s a god up there, let the lashes be safe. Front door, not there, bedside table, not there, bathroom or next to the toilet, ah, there we go. My babies, you’re safe now.
Your ten minute walk round the house has been all a bit too much for you so you settled back into your bed only to and a half eaten pizza. Score bitch! You start to munch as you force yourself to face reality and check your phone. Oh great, there’s a pic of you passed out, and you jugging a pint, and you kissing a stranger, and, fuck, you really did fall o a table while dancing. If black holes existed on Earth you’d defo request to be sucked up right now.
But it’s okay right, because you’re never going to drink again. Ever. Right?
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