Britard woke up wearing last night’s pants, and the sweat of last night’s booze. It had pooled in the folds of her skin while the sun sang her to sleep.
Mornings like that were not so common for her anymore and hers was a sad, angry shame-awakening, for the second weekend in a row.
This one was going to be fairly bad if her first flashback was anything to go by. It was the computer. YouTube. Two friends on the spare bed next to her, one trying to sleep, the other suggesting songs that Britard was going to ignore.
The music was at a terribly loud volume for Morning Suntime but it wasn’t as loud as her voice, concerting its way through the neighbourhood, creating what had to be the world’s worst Human-Rooster Duet.
Groaning at the memory, Britard reached onto the cluttered table beside her bed, her fingers blindly stalking its surface to avoid exposing her sandpaper eyes to the harsh, evil air of sunshiney reality.
The next flashback came courtesy of her fingers’ inability to locate her phone. With a heavier heart than the one she’d been carrying last night, she gritted her teeth, and prepared to face a day of disappointing treasure hunting – a game called “Oh Shit. I did that last night? I did. Shit.”
In an unprecedented turn of events, today’s game was multiplayer, and as a result, Britard took less of a health hit through Guilt Damage than she usually did in this game.
… until she realised that her phone was not the only missing person from her entourage – She had also lost her glasses – a week before attending the ballet with her family for an event called “Combined Birthdays in a City Eight Hours’ Drive Away!”
“This is why we can’t have nice things, Britard”, said Britard, squinting into the distance.
Seven days later, staring through a new pair of glasses, she sat perched in the middle back seat of her parents’ car, twenty minutes into the eight hour trip home.
Her fingertips traversed the floor of the car, in search of her phone.
“This is why we can’t have nice things, Britard”, said her partner, five minutes later, hanging up the call he’d made to her phone. “Your brother will post it back to you tomorrow. Along with your wallet. And your handbag”.