Thursday, September 20, 2012

You've reached a new low when...

The phrase Girls Night In can be quite deceiving. You're not going galavanting about town, so what could really happen? Yeah, sure, we'll watch movies, have a few glasses of wine and go to bed. Oh no. Not when you put two Irish girls, an Italian and a Polack in the same room together. What started out as an innocent Friday evening turned into one of absurd debauchery. As more and more wine flowed, the music got louder. And what girl doesn't want to dance when she hears Top 40? I use the word dance loosely, as it was more of an 80's exercise video gone wrong, complete with jumping jacks, the running man, and of course, the robot. Cut to more wine and a raid on one of the Irish 1's closet. Talk about the sloppiest fashion show imaginable. Stumbling about, trying to put outfits together, and commenting on whose boobs looked better in what shirt really took the free for all to new heights. No, no, I take that back. Jumping around topless was the height of it. What? Girls do that at sleepovers, you know. 2 1/2 bottles per person later, we were each slathered with retin A that would soon make our faces numb and fell asleep in one big bed together. It was all sweet and adorable and cuddly-like until the following morning, when the previous night's alcohol and cheese pizza consumption came back in full force and my innards were screaming at me to wake up and relieve myself. Still in a drunken haze, I whispered to Irish 1 what my plan was, only to be knocked back into reality when she kindly let me know that she was out of toilet paper and that the closest store didn't open for another hour. Time that I didn't have, according to my churning stomach. Keeping my horror inside as not to wake Irish 2 (Italian 1 jumped ship onto the couch) I glared at her and put my head back down. A few minutes later I was instructed to go to the bathroom and it was there that I saw the improvisation which had taken place; doggie piddle pads were cut up into little squares and set on top of the toilet. Yes, you read that correctly. Doggie piddle pads. The diapers for dogs. Canines. As in, this was designed specifically for an animal and not meant to touch the ass of a human. From the bedroom I could hear Irish 1 attempting to hold in her guffaws, and as I hung my head in shame at what I was about to do, I realized we were all probably better off just going out to the fucking bar. At the very least, we could have stolen a roll of toilet paper there.

1 comment: