I've had some bad hangovers at work. I've been out dancing til 4am, gone into work on three hours sleep and crashed epically come 2pm. I've been so hungover I was unable to write an address label without wanting to throw up. Hell, after our company away day, I turned up to work still drunk and had to have a Bloody Mary at lunchtime.
Today, I was very hungover.
Last night S rolled through the door just as I was about to make a start on dinner and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a gig with her and Russell Brand at an achingly trendy and super-exclusive members only bar/club not far from our flat. Ordinarily I would have said no outright - I hadn't eaten yet, I had work the next day, a programme we were both absorbed in was on TV at 9 - and then I decided fuck it, I'm 24 and living in the best city in the world. It's Monday night, I have no plans, let's live a little. So we went out, and we lived.
The night started poorly, when I was forcibly reminded how much I hate going out with S. Basically, S is beautiful. In fact, S is what I spent several years desperately trying to achieve through a combination of makeup, hairdye and the power of prayer. She is tall and slim, has a figure most models would kill for, a stunning face, and has the most amazing long, thick red hair. In contrast, I am short with a fine, messy crop of (dyed) red hair which needs re-doing. I have long since given up hope and have just accepted my fate, but I had forgotten what it was like to go to a bar with her and despite her being all over Russell Brand, have the majority of guys gawping at her while I stand around and feel like a piece of slightly ugly furniture.
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