The healing power of fashion.
'Urgh,' I said when I opened my eyes this morning. 'Urgh and yow.'
I went out see, last night, to a gal pal's house, there was wine drunk and some sort of quiche eaten, then more wine was drunk, next thing you know I"m back home, NOT talking (for fear of sounding slurring) and trying to tidy the kitchen.
'You probably should go to bed.' The paramour said as I tried to tie two plastic bags together for no discernible reason.
I nodded in agreement, went upstairs, washed my face and then I woke up this morning.
Ugh.
With a cold.
And a hangover, a... hold.
Less than amused at this discovery I made my way-gingerly- downstairs.
'Bindrow?' The bigger of the cats said.
'Velly.' I replied in Christopher Lee's voice, opening presses -which sounded like trees falling- and putting the kettle on- which sounded like a waterfall and then an explosion.
I sat at the table to wait, noticing as I did that my ear are blocked and my throat feels like it's tied up with razor wire.
Truly mingingly awful.
'Oh woe is me, bigger of the cats.' I cried, admiring the way he can sit in a chair and look remarkably like a person. Well, if I knew any black and white furry people. 'Woe' I say.
'Ech-narp.' Said he.
'Pork! I should co-co.' I laughed, but I stopped laughing when I realised there was an AK47 going off in a metallic room somewhere nearby.
I made coffee and a hot lemon drink.
I carried them in here. My footsteps were sonic booms.
I switched on the Dapple. A small grenade, followed by an orchestra.
Bling, it said loudly, and a red dot appeared in my mail.
Spam spam spam spam, work related crapology, work related crapology.
Bah!
But then...what's this? An email, from City Gay no less, that most elusive of thistles.
'Darling, I"ve got two tickets to the gala opening of Kildare Retail Village (http://www.kildarevillage.com/Kildare/home.asp?lan=en) tomorrow night. Want to come? It's gala Darling, you'll probably need a new gúna! Pm me, we'll have a drink in the Fitz and then grab the bus!'
Retail? Village? New dress? Moi!
Who has time to be ill? Who has time to be hungover? There are dresses to be hunted. And lo, I have new shoes upstairs just waiting for an outing such as this.
Oh fashion, you never let me down.
I love you.
Kissy kissy.
FMC
I went out see, last night, to a gal pal's house, there was wine drunk and some sort of quiche eaten, then more wine was drunk, next thing you know I"m back home, NOT talking (for fear of sounding slurring) and trying to tidy the kitchen.
'You probably should go to bed.' The paramour said as I tried to tie two plastic bags together for no discernible reason.
I nodded in agreement, went upstairs, washed my face and then I woke up this morning.
Ugh.
With a cold.
And a hangover, a... hold.
Less than amused at this discovery I made my way-gingerly- downstairs.
'Bindrow?' The bigger of the cats said.
'Velly.' I replied in Christopher Lee's voice, opening presses -which sounded like trees falling- and putting the kettle on- which sounded like a waterfall and then an explosion.
I sat at the table to wait, noticing as I did that my ear are blocked and my throat feels like it's tied up with razor wire.
Truly mingingly awful.
'Oh woe is me, bigger of the cats.' I cried, admiring the way he can sit in a chair and look remarkably like a person. Well, if I knew any black and white furry people. 'Woe' I say.
'Ech-narp.' Said he.
'Pork! I should co-co.' I laughed, but I stopped laughing when I realised there was an AK47 going off in a metallic room somewhere nearby.
I made coffee and a hot lemon drink.
I carried them in here. My footsteps were sonic booms.
I switched on the Dapple. A small grenade, followed by an orchestra.
Bling, it said loudly, and a red dot appeared in my mail.
Spam spam spam spam, work related crapology, work related crapology.
Bah!
But then...what's this? An email, from City Gay no less, that most elusive of thistles.
'Darling, I"ve got two tickets to the gala opening of Kildare Retail Village (http://www.kildarevillage.com/Kildare/home.asp?lan=en) tomorrow night. Want to come? It's gala Darling, you'll probably need a new gúna! Pm me, we'll have a drink in the Fitz and then grab the bus!'
Retail? Village? New dress? Moi!
Who has time to be ill? Who has time to be hungover? There are dresses to be hunted. And lo, I have new shoes upstairs just waiting for an outing such as this.
Oh fashion, you never let me down.
I love you.
Kissy kissy.
FMC
Labels: cold, unusual cures.
posted by fatmammycat at 10:36 a.m.
22 Comments:
My hangovers progress in a rather similar fashion, up to the getting out of bed thing.
See how I put "fashion" in there? You can't buy that kind of subtlety.
Consider me impressed.
It's a miracle! Lady Lazarus is risen. Lo, the lovely dress cures all.
Have fun at the opening.
so unfair, my hangovers last days and i couldnt move even if Kate Moss et all were showing off the new Primark summer range in my bedroom...
well, bits of me might move
I wouldn't say risen, more propped up.
Manuel, I sent a dudely friend of mine a link to your site-he's in the bizz too- and he emailed me this back.
'Christ, It's like he's living my fucking life, only in his version he has a girlfriend and a sense of humour.'
Then he went straight back to applying unguent to his burned hand and waiting for the spin cycle to clean the shit off his whites. He may also have been drinking.
That's the best description of a hung I've ever read, anywhere.
As it goes I'm feeling not dissimilar myself this morning and the wee one was up with earache for most of the night. But you have made a joy out of pain and your cats crack me up.
Brilliant, brilliant post - loved it!
They are a chatty bunch. Oh Sam, if you feel even half as wretched as I do right this very second my heart goes out to you.
Commiserations. Hangovers have put a serious curb on my drinking career. Like yourself I love drinking but hate being really drunk, and really hate hangovers. To be simultaneously be dogged by a cold is simply unfair.
Why not (ahem), "fashion" yourself a Bloody Mary.
I'm about to have a very hot curry. I suspect I will sweat the evil out.
Hangovers are really very nasty things, I think mine are getting worse the older I get and, dare I say it, the less I drink.
But you're right John, a cold on top is just the pits.
Apart from the hangover - which I've given up- you are a gal after my own heart. What a spirit lifting effect having to shop for an occasion is - so it is!
Yup tis true the older you get the worse it gets. Also, the fitter you get the worse it gets - in my experience.
I do like shopping with purpose Pat darling, I truly do.
John, how's the knee? Wait, I'll pop over.
Happy shopping for the new guna!
New shoes avert any catastrophe, even a hangover... I bought the sweetest patent leather mary jane stilettos the other day... yep, that was almost enough to survive another birthday!
Are you gals really going to travel on Bus Éireann in gala rig-outs? That'll be a picture. They'll be well creased by the time you hit the KRV.
Or is the Opening in some hotel in the city?
ps. I'm just sick. Wish I was hungover. Fekin builders making noise and rising dust doesn't help.
Slim! A velly melly birthday to you indeed. Mary Janes, how lovely.
Cheers Aishling, we must prevail.
Mini bus PS, mini, even more cringe worthy. Me and a bus load of hacks.
I'm glad I"m typing this, I have no voice at all, none.
No sympathy from me at all for the hangover, you drink and have a great time, feck off you deserve that hangover!
I've completely lost my taste for alcohol see, and I miss it dreadfully.
I've tried to get it back but after two drinks I think blah why bother so I sit and listen to the slurring shite spouted in my direction and generally go home early.
It's depressing.
Not so much now that I'm big with child again, I have no desire to go out at all these days, people tend to stare at pregnant women in bars after a certain hour, but I'm sure it will return when this child is birthed and weaned in about 12 months.
I will get pissed again dammit, I will!
Good lord Boliath, you must surely be ready to pop any day now!
fashion is neither interesting nor interesting
It just 'is'. How very zen of you. I like your thinking on this.
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