Self Examine Your Behaviour in the Cold Light of Sunday Morning
A bad idea!
(Photo via Jamie Clifton)
Ah, you should… not have clicked that. Open your eyes, thick with a white dust of sleep. Let’s take stock, here. The curtains are open and you’re pretty sure people in the flat opposite can see you. Your neck hurts and when you pull your phone up to your face to check the time the refection tells you it is studded with hickies. You need to find your underpants but you cannot find your underpants. You are suddenly weirdly shy about being nude in front of the person who, only three-and-a-half hours earlier, you were exploring violently with your tongue, so you wiggle into a pair of trousers underneath the duvet. “Good morning,” they purr, absolutely reeking of — oh, god, right, you came back to theirs and started drinking crème de cassis. “Hello,” you say. “I, uh, immediately have to go.” Your battery is on 6 percent so you don’t risk an Uber, so here’s you, squinting against the light of the day, swaying lightly at a bus stop and trying to drink a Capri Sun. Takes you 100 minutes and two interchanges to get home and it’s only in the shower that you notice an ominous stiff patch in the back of your hair. Whole of Sunday is a write off and you have a jolt of realisation halfway through rewatching Pulp Fiction with a pizza that you don’t actually know if you wore protection or not. There was a wet slap of a half-full condom against the wall by the bin in the blue-black dark of the morning light, wasn’t there? You’re like 90 percent sure there was. Shh. Shh. Your phone is still buzzing. You’re probably going to fuck them again on Wednesday after six drinks at the Wetherspoons by your work. Chill the fuck out.
YOU’VE SORT OF WON SATURDAY NIGHT BUT YOU HAVE DEFINITELY LOST SUNDAY MORNING