She was like an angel clad in a silk nightgown sent down to us from the drinking gods themselves. My mother, being no stranger to hangovers herself, had made us eggs. "YOU'RE FINE," I said, harshly, just wanting to go back to sleep.Ī few hours later, we were eating breakfast in my mother's kitchen. Matt," she said the words slowly, letting the cruel truth of reality wash over her. "Matt has a girlfriend. "WHAAAT?" she exclaimed as she put her little head in her hands. My voice was a good three octaves lower, and I sounded like either a frog or a 70-year-old Manhattan chain smoker. "You made out with Matt*," I managed to croak.
It's a look you can only pull off when you're young and your skin is poreless and velvet. She still looked pretty in a hangover chic, disheveled way. Her big brown eyes were puffy and had bruise-like dark circles resting beneath them. Her newly cut bob haircut (she's still one of the only girls I know who can pull off a successful bob to date) was going in a thousand different directions. One platform sandal dangled off her foot. She was in a black lace bra and black skinny jeans. My vision began to clear, and I made out the sight of Leah. I had slept in my contacts, and those plastic little disks felt like shards of glass, cutting open the whites of my eyes, which I'm sure were now blood red. I opened my sore eyes and felt something hard breaking inside them. However, I had mixed vodka with cheap Champagne, and no one is immune to the ramifications of that deathly combo. I was 20, I was practically a newborn and had that wonderful youthful resistance to shield me from hangovers. My mouth was so dry it was like someone had stuffed a bag of cotton balls into it. I felt like the weight of the world had landed on my brain. I clumsily rolled over and loudly groaned. "Who the hell did I make out with last night?!" Leah screamed, shooting out of bed. We had been recklessly partying for about a week straight, waking up with brutal headaches and shame shudders, only to reapply our red lipstick by 7 pm and be wasted again by midnight. We were about 19 or 20 years old and visiting family in Florida for Christmas break. One morning about a decade ago, my best friend Leah* and I woke up in a hungover panic.