Earlier in the week I mentioned that I got drunk for the first time in over a year. The deafening silence indicated either the Internet’s boredom, disdain or disappointed resignation for such behaviour.
Regardless, that evening, after Chef realised the promise of action in the car on the way home was certainly not going to come from the snoring carcass lying beside him, which was I believe snoring before even horizontal, I had a brain anurism, or something similar:
Firstly I was naked.
And making breakfast.
Then the cleaner arrived, with an additional cleaner who also happened to be male. This cleaner has been the holiday cleaner and is, quite frankly, hopeless. She was the final straw that made me complain to our friend, the owner of the cleaning company, who does selfless things for others (ie me) like make-over rooms despite experiencing immense hardship herself.
Anyway, this stand in and her male companion are from some European climate and as I tried to hide my hide behind the counter they both laughed that in their country nudity was very common and not to worry.
Then I started to feel my brain squeeze in a vice.
I stumbled up the hallway, everything swooning and warping in front of me as I felt like I was going to faint. I got up to our room that for some reason was full of packing boxes (wishful thinking even in times of my brain melting?) which I sort of fell between. Then I caught my reflection. My whole face had sort of morphed, like what happens in The Ring. Not to poxy Naomi Watts one, the original holy fuck that’s scary Japanese flick.
My eyes had been sucked into my head and my eye sockets about the third of their normal size. Holy shit was all I could think, I’m in deep shit.
Then I woke up.
The hangover you have before you’re even awake.