F*#k, Not Again

The touch of the cold tiles against the bare skin of my naked body awoke me from my deep coma like slumber. I tried to open my eyes but the bright lights shining off the walls halted my attempts. How did I get here? Where was “here”? Still confused, I tried once more to open my eyes, this time successfully. My head throbbed and my body ached as though I had just completed the Ironman triathlon. Gingerly, I pulled myself up to a seated position, and came to realize where I was. There I sat naked on my bathroom floor, surrounded by the contents of my still queasy stomach. Rubbing my temples with one hand to try and sooth my headache, I looked at my wristwatch to see that it was 6 am. As I sat there, I pondered one thought and one thought only, how did I end up here? Rather, how did I end up here, naked?

I began to piece together the events that unfolded the previous night. We were celebrating a friend’s birthday so we invited everyone over to our place for a few drinks before we went out to celebrate at the bars. Everyone started to arrive at around 7 pm, and I remember drinking a great many various alcoholic concoctions at our place. I recollect calling for cabs, arriving to the first bar, and walking with the wife over to the bar. After that my memories get a little hazy.

The remainder of the night was something straight out of a reality TV show, with only polaroids for memories. Polaroids with rowdy scenes of hot young women in tiny skirts gyrate their sweaty bodies to blaring music. Where intoxicated boys humiliate themselves trying to grind their junk up against the girl’s booties. Going from one bar to another eventually ending the night at some run-down dive that featured a 60 year old lounge singer dressed like Diana Ross.

Everything from here on out is based on what I have pieced together after speaking with the wife. According to the missus, “Kelly drove us home, and Brendan carried you upstairs…” (Being so drunk that I can not get myself home, by no means is a common occurrence for me.) Apparently, after Brendan and Kelly left, I decided that I needed a shower because I felt all “icky”. So I dashed into the bathroom and began to disrobe. Getting my head stuck in my shirt because I failed to unbutton the top two buttons, I stood there yelling for my wife to come and help me. She laughed at me as I stood there helpless and gasping for air. Just as we were able to free my head from the vise grip of my shirt, out spewed the entire contents of my stomach. While not entirely missing the porcelain throne, a vast majority of it ejected through my mouth and nose, landing onto the floor in a puketastic mess. After the disgorging ended, I didn’t want anything to do with moving any part of body in the slightest bit. After she cleaned up the mess, she tried helplessly to get me to bed. I fought her off and decided to lay down right there next to the can just in case, if only for a bit longer. (I must have vomited again over night!)

I must have gotten hot because even she doesn’t know how, when, or why I took off my pants and boxers. I suppose we will never know how it came to be. Maybe I was just hot. Perhaps I felt uncomfortable. Whatever the reason, it’s over and it’s something that I do not wish to revisit.