A Nasty Hangover

„Guys’ll be at 8,” he says.

„Ok,” she murmurs.

Lunch. Attempts to study. Throwing rubbish. Tries at doing something important. A look at fashion websites. Dinner. Attempts to study. Another look at fashion websites. Washing-up.

“Guys’ve just called. They’ll be late.”


Attempts to study. Making tea. Still another look at fashion websites. A sip of tea. A look at facebook. Tries at doing something important. A sip of tea. The doorbell ringing.

„Hi! It’s us.”

Hellos and introductions. Though names were exchanged, some of them would be forgotten in a few seconds. Putting bottles of beer into the fridge. Arranging chairs. Enlarging a table. Finally, everyone seated. Perhaps not particularly comfortably but still.

“How about playing a game?”

Choosing a game. Checking mobile phones. Laying out a board game. A beep of a Facebook message. Explaining the rules. An SMS ringtone. Laughing. Choosing pawns. Taking a look at mobiles. Changing the pawns.

„Let’s order a pizza!”

Calling pizza delivery. The address repeated three times. Taking bottles of beer out of the fridge. Where’s the opener? Playing the game. Waiting for the pizza. Drinking beer. Trips to the bathroom.

The doorbell sounding! Pizza! A huge box, garlic sauce, ketchup, plates. Beer spilled on the floor. Where’s a rag? Cleaning the floor. Carrying on with the game. Touching cards and pawns with sticky hands. Drinking beer.


“See ya!”

Clearing away the game. Tidying up the room. Still half-cut. Throwing away leftovers. Cleaning. Still tipsy. Washing-up. A hot bath.

Suddenly. A wave of nausea. A flat bed. A swinging head. A soft pillow. A turning stomach. A duvet pulled over.

Some dwarves are encircling her bed. One of them wears a cop hat, another a papal mitre, still another a top hat. There is also one bald. The dwarves jeer at her, shouting “party!”, “beer!”, “enjoy!”, “cheer up!”. They are pointing fingers at her, holding bottles of beer, proposing a toast. A deafening noise of clinking glass. They are pouring beer into her mouth. A pricking sensation in her throat. Beer drowns her. They are undressing her. A stabbing pain in her abdominal. Dwarves are dancing around her. They are dancing faster and tighter and faster and tighter. They are squeezing her like a juicy apple, wringing her like a soaked rag and crushing her as if she were a dry leaf.

Daylight. Raising eyelids. A dull headache. Where’s her nightie? Giddiness. Where’s her dressing gown? Sudden stomach cramps. Water, please! Lifting her head.  A dizzy spell. No way. Back in the bed.

“Why did I drink so much?”

“Dunno,” he says.

“Sorry that I drank so much.”

“Never mind.”

“But I should’t’ve behaved like that.”


“I’m hopeless at hanging around with people.”

“Yeah. You’re a moody cow,” he smiles.

“You too.”




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