Do you ever get that post-Friday night paranoia? Those “I’ve been sleeping all day” Saturday blues? That all too familiar “Did I say too much?” wariness?
The “I told the Dwarf story again didn’t I?” realisation. The “Shit, I was talking reeeeaaallly loud” flash back.
The last shot lament?
Do you message all your friends to make sure they still love you, in case your uncouth sex talk put them off you for life?
Do you face palm yourself awake when you recall the theme of the night, asking the work hottie what it’s like to have been carved by angels? Lecturing much younger boys on their love lives? Going deep on the subjects of motherhood, fatherhood and sweet liberty?
Loudly listing all the work colleagues you’d do, while even loudlier bullet-pointing the reasons you wouldn’t shag the others. Remembering slices of gossip about the office gossip to store away for later, just in case?
Do you ever wish you’d stuck to your plan to nurse a lime and soda all night?
Yeah, me neither.