Its 6:30am on Saturday morning and I hear an alarm start to go off. I open my eyes and try to find the source of the sound, only to find myself struck by the unfamiliarity of my environment.
At first I’m just confused because I seem to be fully dressed, and still wearing my shoes. But then I notice that the walls are pink, and that the bed I am laying in is not long enough. In addition, there is a computer in the corner with a screensaver of SpongeBob SquarePants, and the floor is littered with art supplies. After absorbing the décor for a moment more, I suddenly come to the conclusion that this room must belong to a grade school aged female. I manage to suppress a panic attack, and refocus on finding the alarm clock. As soon as I do however, a hangover headache decides to stop by and visit.
Hangover headaches are very rude. They barge in without calling or knocking first, and they wont leave when you ask them too. This one not only ran around my brain roughing up the place, it went right up to my frontal lobe, turned around, and announced to the rest of my brain that every portion was going to suffer for what I did the night before. This did not go over well, and much of my brain decided to call in sick for the remainder of the headache visit.
At some point during this inner monologue I manage to step out of the room. First on my agenda is to find some Excedrin. Second thing on my agenda is to remember who’s house I’m in. Third thing on my agenda is to stop making lists because its only making my head hurt more.
Thankfully the nearest bathroom yields pain-reliever gold, and I gulp down three Excedrin with a few handfuls of water. I leave the bathroom and continue down the hallway, only to step in something slippery.
It looks like puke. It smells like puke.
…Yep, its puke.
So, I remove my shoes and continue walking out into the kitchen, where I manage to step into something wet.
It looks like water. It doesn’t smell like water.
…Its not water.
I leave my dog-urine covered socks where they are, and continue out past the kitchen into the living room.
Looking out the living room windows I notice that it is already getting light. The distant view is beautiful, full of trees and bluffs. The nearby view is more sobering, consisting of mud, dirty snow, and suburban housing. Turning around, I see my wife laying on the couch. She is in her pajamas and is sound asleep. There is a suitcase on the floor and a bottle of beer next to her. She has a content smile on her face.
There is no way in hell I am going to wake her up at 6:30am. Death narrowly averted, I decide to rifle through the suitcase and find some different clothes. Thats when I step in a pile of dog feces with bare feet.
Of course, at this moment my memory decides to return and hit me full force.
…I’m in Missouri again.
I also apparently need to apologize to some people.
Its going to be a long weekend.