You awaken and immediately you are aware of two things. First, your head is killing you- you really shouldn’t have drunk as much as you did last night. Second, walking is going to be very painful.
OK- make that three things you are aware of. With a wince, you roll out of bed- noting that it isn’t your bed- and make your way to the bathroom. This morning is going to be embarrassing enough without adding peeing yourself to the list. Quickly taking care of business, you go back into the bedroom and begin to hunt for your clothes.
Searching the closet (your host is the type that would hang everything up) yields nothing. Getting on your hands and knees to look under the bed doesn’t find you anything either- and just causes the dull ache from last nights activities to remind you again why it isn’t a good idea to drink so much. Finally, you have to give up- your clothes just aren’t anywhere that you can find them.
Pouting, you sit on the bed, forcing yourself not to wince. You had hoped to be able to sneak out of the house without your host being any the wiser- even if that is a bit rude and you suspect said host is cooking you breakfast. You really didn’t want to have to see them after what you did last night- what they did- but that option is not really an option when you are wearing nothing but your underwear. Finally, you bite the bullet and make your way downstairs to face your host.
“Your clothes are in the dryer,” your host comments the minute you walk into the kitchen, spooning up eggs, then putting toast and bacon next to them and placing the plate on the table before motioning for you to sit and eat. “Didn’t think coming in smelling of cheap whiskey, cigarette smoke, and puke would go over so well at work so I washed them.”
You blink as a few more memories defog and you can suddenly recall the drunk last night, throwing up all over your designer outfit. Yeah. Going into work smelling like a dive bar likely wouldn’t have won you any points with HR. You eye your host nervously.
Sighing, your host plates their own food and sits down across from you then just gives you a look that screams, ‘go on and ask- you know you won’t be able to eat until you do’.
Grimacing, you do
ask- although your voice comes out hesitantly and almost in a whisper. “About last night…” you blush.
Frowning, your host looks at you, a gleam in their eye. “Do you remember what happened?”
You nod. Your host sighs again. “Do you remember why it happened?”
Blushing even more furiously, you nod yet again- not trusting your voice to work.
Your host nods emphatically. “Good. Because if I ever catch you attempting to get into your car and drive after drinking like that again- last night will seem like a picnic. Capiche?”
You swallow hard. “Got it boss.”