and dirty socks and I took a few cleansing breaths so I wouldn't vomit on my husband.
“What did I do to myself?” I mumbled, turning slowly to glance at Tom. He was dressed in his favorite pajamas, a gag gift for his thirty-fifth birthday. Hundreds of Little Debbie faces blurred together beneath the tangled bedding.
I felt like I was at death's door, but at the same time, I felt incredibly blessed. I could have been looking at an empty bed, and instead, I was looking at this man-child, with his tousled hair, and an incredible welt on the left side of his face. “Poor Tom,” I said, leaning
down to press my lips to the damaged cheek.
I dropped my feet to the cool floor, and forced myself to stand. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I prayed, as I staggered toward my dresser.
What the hell was I thinking last night?
I passed the mirror over the scarred bureau and felt a magnetic pull to look.
Not a good idea!
“ Holy schnookies.”
So much for my makeover! My hair had held up pretty well, but my face was a disaster. Half of it looked like my khaki pants when I was too lazy to iron them, and I had a drool skid mark from my mouth to my right ear.
“Tragic,” I whispered.
Evidently Tom and I had only fulfilled one-half of our desired evening. I had no doubt I'd been drunk, but I was pretty sure there had been no sex. As cute as the jammies were, they weren't the kind of thing that got my blood pumping, and I was still wearing my new dress. The tag I'd forgotten to remove dug painfully into my armpit, yet it reminded me what a smart shopper I was. Originally eighty bucks, on sale for twenty-two. Not bad!
I staggered to the bathroom, started the shower, and sat on the toilet seat while the water warmed. Bits of wallpaper peppered the yellow shag carpeting, and I wondered if I should pick them up before Bathman & Robin came in and photographed the mess for their 2009 catalog. I was pretty sure we'd win for the before photo.
Three minutes later I stepped into the shower sans all the beauty products I'd purchased from Denise. I'd sworn upon the self-help bible I'd begin taking care of myself immediately, but I couldn't possibly tow a hundred bucks worth of beauty products into the tub. I had to hang on with both hands to avoid collapsing into a heaping pile of naked Mona.
I stood under the hot water until I'd washed away any remnants of the ruined makeover. I was weaker than hell, but managed to shower, dress myself, and dry my hair without passing out.
“Hey,” Tom said, once I'd made my way to the kitchen. He had replaced the Little Debbie pajamas with worn Levis and an Old Navy sweatshirt. He looked youthful and cute.
I looked like a worn out rag doll.
“Morning,” I said, half dragging myself to my favorite chair.
“You okay?”
“I have a pulse,” I moaned, and Tom smiled.
“That's good to hear. Bathman & Robin are coming at eleven. You still up for that?”
“Yeah. I could use a superhero right about now,” I said, as he handed me a cup of coffee. I wasn't sure what happened to Henry's cup, but this one said, My friends went to Myrtle Beach and all I got was this crappy mug. I mentally added a new set of dishes to the list of things to buy in the near future.
“I need to get a dumpster,” Tom said.
“For what?” I asked, wondering what we'd have left if we got rid of everything dumpster-worthy.
“Well, for one thing, the living room rug,” he said, sitting across from me.
“What happened to that?”
“You don't remember, do you?” he asked, looking amused.
“Evidently not.”
“You had a little accident last night, Mona.”
“What kind of accident?” I asked, trying to remember.
“The kind involving vomit,” Tom said, and I groaned.
“Sorry about that. I suppose it was time for that rug to go anyway,” I said.
“Well, good news. It's gone.”
“What did you do with it?” I asked.
“I rolled it up and dragged it to the porch.”
“I hope Thurman was inside by
“What did I do to myself?” I mumbled, turning slowly to glance at Tom. He was dressed in his favorite pajamas, a gag gift for his thirty-fifth birthday. Hundreds of Little Debbie faces blurred together beneath the tangled bedding.
I felt like I was at death's door, but at the same time, I felt incredibly blessed. I could have been looking at an empty bed, and instead, I was looking at this man-child, with his tousled hair, and an incredible welt on the left side of his face. “Poor Tom,” I said, leaning
down to press my lips to the damaged cheek.
I dropped my feet to the cool floor, and forced myself to stand. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I prayed, as I staggered toward my dresser.
What the hell was I thinking last night?
I passed the mirror over the scarred bureau and felt a magnetic pull to look.
Not a good idea!
“ Holy schnookies.”
So much for my makeover! My hair had held up pretty well, but my face was a disaster. Half of it looked like my khaki pants when I was too lazy to iron them, and I had a drool skid mark from my mouth to my right ear.
“Tragic,” I whispered.
Evidently Tom and I had only fulfilled one-half of our desired evening. I had no doubt I'd been drunk, but I was pretty sure there had been no sex. As cute as the jammies were, they weren't the kind of thing that got my blood pumping, and I was still wearing my new dress. The tag I'd forgotten to remove dug painfully into my armpit, yet it reminded me what a smart shopper I was. Originally eighty bucks, on sale for twenty-two. Not bad!
I staggered to the bathroom, started the shower, and sat on the toilet seat while the water warmed. Bits of wallpaper peppered the yellow shag carpeting, and I wondered if I should pick them up before Bathman & Robin came in and photographed the mess for their 2009 catalog. I was pretty sure we'd win for the before photo.
Three minutes later I stepped into the shower sans all the beauty products I'd purchased from Denise. I'd sworn upon the self-help bible I'd begin taking care of myself immediately, but I couldn't possibly tow a hundred bucks worth of beauty products into the tub. I had to hang on with both hands to avoid collapsing into a heaping pile of naked Mona.
I stood under the hot water until I'd washed away any remnants of the ruined makeover. I was weaker than hell, but managed to shower, dress myself, and dry my hair without passing out.
“Hey,” Tom said, once I'd made my way to the kitchen. He had replaced the Little Debbie pajamas with worn Levis and an Old Navy sweatshirt. He looked youthful and cute.
I looked like a worn out rag doll.
“Morning,” I said, half dragging myself to my favorite chair.
“You okay?”
“I have a pulse,” I moaned, and Tom smiled.
“That's good to hear. Bathman & Robin are coming at eleven. You still up for that?”
“Yeah. I could use a superhero right about now,” I said, as he handed me a cup of coffee. I wasn't sure what happened to Henry's cup, but this one said, My friends went to Myrtle Beach and all I got was this crappy mug. I mentally added a new set of dishes to the list of things to buy in the near future.
“I need to get a dumpster,” Tom said.
“For what?” I asked, wondering what we'd have left if we got rid of everything dumpster-worthy.
“Well, for one thing, the living room rug,” he said, sitting across from me.
“What happened to that?”
“You don't remember, do you?” he asked, looking amused.
“Evidently not.”
“You had a little accident last night, Mona.”
“What kind of accident?” I asked, trying to remember.
“The kind involving vomit,” Tom said, and I groaned.
“Sorry about that. I suppose it was time for that rug to go anyway,” I said.
“Well, good news. It's gone.”
“What did you do with it?” I asked.
“I rolled it up and dragged it to the porch.”
“I hope Thurman was inside by
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