This is a recent email exchange I had with my friend whom I shall call ‘Crazy Hand’ merely because she has the same initials. Plus, apparently she can make the sound of one hand clapping. Good enough for me.
………………………………………………………….
Me: Haven’t we all been here:
“…when I open my eyes, I better be wearing pants.”
(courtesy of http://hungoverowls.tumblr.com)
CH: Yes… but without the dignity-saving benefit of feathers, unfortunately.
Me: It reminds me of a friend years ago who passed out against a petrol station pump. She woke in the morning to find herself surrounded by people filling up their cars… including her Dad.
CH: That’s hilarious. In my head she wakes up, sees her Dad and says, “Get me Coke when you go in to pay?”
Me: And as he’s inside paying he can see her slowly crawling over to the car whilst cars are honking, trying to get around her.
CH: Then, from her prone position next to a large oil stain, she flips them all the bird. Her head hurts too much to tell them to get fecked.
Me: … then she passes out. I just like the vision of the Dad coming back outside and having to hoist his hungover daughter into the backseat.
CH: Again.
Me: We should be script writers. As long as the story calls for drunken misadventures, we’ll go great.
Heh heh. Oh dear.
Our story would have to be one entire drunken misadventure. Anything outside those parameters and we’d be stumped.
Boy meets girl. Boy dumps girl. Girl gets maggoted and passes out in the middle of a roundabout. Um. The end.