I feel your pain. Literally. The pain in my head is so extreme, I am quite certain that it must be the accumulation of both yours and mine. How this is possible I do not know, but I am in no such state at this present moment to research. Anyway, I was hoping you might help me to fill in the gaps of last night (why, when and how, for example, did I tear my expensive jeans into shorts?). I am quite confident in your being there for most of the night, but not much else. I am a little concerned, if truth be told.
From what I can remember, we arrived at the pub, approached the bar, and made the noble decision to relieve ourselves of our awkward sobriety (because all smart girls know: drunk = confident, confident = boys). We bumped into our friends, did a shot or two of tequila (YOLO!) and then…blank. There was a short man in a bucket hat, another with a beard, and a scooter. We were outside, then inside, then on the dance floor, then in the bathroom, then outside, then inside, then…dance floor? Being the classy bitches we are, we did many a shot of Patrón, and you bought a round of Jägerbombs for everyone within a ten-metre radius (I’ve said it before; your generosity is admirable). We shared that gross jug of what I can only assume was strawberry flavoured cider mixed with urine. You consumed copious amounts of beer which cannot have been good for your gluten intolerance. I tried to stop you, but you assured me that beer is in fact pure protein.
I sent some awkward text messages which I will show you later. Thank goodness my phone died at around 11pm; I can only imagine the embarrassment it might have caused had it not blacked-out before me. On a positive note, the phone accompanied me home which is somewhat of a miracle. My keys, however, did not. Speaking of which, how did we get home? I woke next to a half-eaten piece of bread, but you were nowhere to be seen. Either a) you woke and left early, failing to leave a note, or b) we went our separate ways during the course of the evening. If the latter is true, that was terribly irresponsible of us. Neither you nor myself were in any such state to be left alone. I, for one, could not stand without your assistance. If you could please message me ASAP to confirm that you are in fact alive, that would be swell.
Anyway, I’m off to work. Let’s hope I don’t throw-up on a customer, or my boss.
Your loving friend,
PS. I have your handbag. Do you have my right shoe?