Monday, September 14, 2009

backdated blog.

Sunday 24th may – Byron Bay

It had to happen at some point. My first hangover in 5 months.
I have just polished off my third piece of toast. The first was scrambled egg and tomato sauce which I managed to plan, prepare and carry all the way to our room before dropping it on the dusty yoga studio floor, then scooping it up with my hands, picking out a few bits of fluff, and scoffing the lot. Hangovers have no boundaries.
The second was the rather old school topping of banana, a simple but favoured choice and the third was the classic, my friend and yours, peanut butter and jam.
I woke up on the balcony trapped inside my beloved boys dressing gown. During the few hours I had slept, I had managed to entangle myself completely. The chord wrapped around my feet, wrists and tummy in an umbilical like fashion. After panicking slightly as I opened my eyes to see a wall of woollen gown encasing my body like some alcoholic butterfly in her cognac cocoon, I emerged and glanced down to find my self still dressed, tho not so fancy now, in grey leggings with a black and red lace swim suit over the top. Flash backs from the night before hit me like a wet fish. The dancing, the posing, the lecherous boys dressed as Hugh Heffner in dressing gowns and garish boxer shorts, the B grade bimbos dressed as play boy bunnies in stilettos and bowties, and me and Rachael as the outcast and renegade, Yoga Bunnies in our slapdash outfits and drawn on whiskers….there was alcohol, there was definatly alcohol that’s for sure…
I staggered into our bedroom and crawled into bed with my beloved bunny, who slept soundly whilst emitting bilious breaths of sour milk, home brew and cigarettes. He cuddled up and muttered “what time is it?” knowing full well he had to work as the infamous ‘dish pig’ by 9am. “7.30” I slurred back as my eyes dropped shut, my head hit the pillow, and my stomach lurched for the 4th time that morning.
I awoke again sometime later as the sunlight glinted thru the blind in a vein attempt to remind us that it was infact day time. I rolled over and dared to sneak a peek at the time, trying not to wake my still snoozing bush baby who was attached like a small chimp to my back. He must have felt my wriggling as his eyes snapped open “oh my god what time is it Sal?!” “Relax, its 9.20” “Oh Shit im supposed to be there at 9!” I have never seen anyone leap so gracefully yet so drunkenly out of bed. He shoved on clothes of some description, and dashed out of the door still reeking of debauchery after a quick peck on the cheek “see you later baby” I faintly heard, as I giggled and snuggled down for some more glorious bedtime safe in the knowledge that my only plans for the day were to make it thru in 1 piece.
I spent the rest of my day on the veranda watching movies, and drinking numerous jugs of Rooboos tea with too much honey. The highlight of my day had to be making it to the shower at 4.30pm to scrub my battered, and dance abused body and hair, rendering me just fresh enough to don a faded purple shirt of ollies, some clean underwear, and crawl back into my pit of chick flick films and muesli to await my hard working man who returned to my bedside with fresh falafels, ginger beer and scones.
True love I am sure.

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