Sunday, 7:30 AM
I am not in my bed.
This is the third time I have woken up. The first was to pee, the second was to verify the proximity of my phone and purse, and now that my bleary eyes have adjusted to the sunlight, I turn my attention to the man next to me. Who is he? What happened last night?
Carefully, so as to not disturb my slumbering Fabio, I extract my phone from my purse and peruse my text messages in search of answers.
Checking my phone was a mistake. This has only made things worse. The contents of my text messages over the past 12 hours include the following:
a) A text to a guy I hook up with occasionally (but whose last name I have never cared to learn or save) saying ‘where are you’. No question mark, because I am a fuckboy.
b) A text from a ‘Nate’ saying ‘who are the other people in that group text?’
c) A text from a ‘Real Nate’ saying ‘Why didn’t you add me to the group text?’
d) A group text of myself, ‘Nate,’ ‘Hank,’ and two of my friends. I am the only one who has sent any messages. They are mostly emojis.
e) A notice from Verizon informing me that I have used 90% of my data for the month.
f) Texts from two unsaved numbers, both with some variation of “Hello J it was nice to meet you this is Uber driver have a nice night”
I still don’t know who is next to me, or where I am. Instead of dealing with my issues, I roll over and go back to sleep.
I have come to the realization that I am hungover. I am hungover and all I really need is a hug. A hug with egg, cheese, and tomato on the inside. And with a bagel on the outside. I need a bagel. I need a bagel more than I’ve ever needed anything.
Why is Fabio still sleeping?! HOW DO MEN DO THIS?!?!
Ok, J. Get it together. Maybe he just needs to be woken up – if you catch my drift. I start rubbing his back. No response. Are you dead, bro?
Will I go to jail if he’s dead? Is jail better than this sleepless purgatory I’m sharing with my attractive captor? So many questions, literally zero answers. I start rubbing harder.
He groans. He’s alive! He’s alive! No jail time for J! My parents will be so proud!! He rolls over and opens one eye.
Man: Good morning, beautiful
J: Good morning…*racking brain for name, anticipating Jimmy Neutron ‘brain blast’ moment, crashing and burning*…dude
M: *oblivious to my internal struggle* How are you doing?
What I want to say: I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m doing. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know ANYTHING. Did we have sex? Where is the condom? Did I enjoy it? Did you at least buy me a drink first? How old are you? Are you gainfully employed? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!?!
What I say: I’m good. Can I have some water?
He just smiles, rolls over, and stands up. While he fetches my sustenance from the kitchen, I channel my inner Sherlock Holmes and do a bit of sleuthing. And by this, I mean I pick up the piece of mail on his bedside table so I can glean his name.
It’s Alex. CLASSIC FUCKBOY NAME. No wonder I went home with this guy. Also, his cable bill is evidently overdue, and he should really do something about that.
Oh, there’s the condom. Ok. Yep. That happened.
I text my roommate.
J: Who’s Alex?
L: Morning sunshine!
J: WHO’S ALEX
L: Lol calm down he works with me. He’s cute. You did good.
J: Are you homeeee
J: I’m hungoverrrrrr
J: Can we get bagels?
Fabio* returns with my water.
*Yes, I am now aware that his name isn’t Fabio, but this makes him sound so much hotter and more exotic than ‘Alex.’ Sue me.
F: Do you want to get breakfast or anything?
J: Nah, I’m not too hungry, haha, ALEX, IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME, I think I’m just gonna call an Uber…
F: SURPRISE CUDDLE ATTACK
I guess I’m not calling that Uber for a while.
I still want a bagel.