The sun barged in uninvited.
My eyelids screamed "no entry."
Somewhere in the distance,
a blender fired up -
and I swear I heard Satan himself say, "Smoothie time."
The couch looked like a crime scene -
sticky, sparkly, and smelling faintly of Thursday's bad decisions.
My phone had 23 photos of my left eyebrow
and one text that said, "Bring back the mop bucket."
I don't even own a mop bucket.
I opened the fridge for water
and found a lime wearing sunglasses.
He looked like he'd been through it too.
We both nodded in silence.
My stomach tried to file a complaint with HR.
My head pulsed to the beat of Friday's soundtrack,
and my soul whispered, "Never again."
I whispered back, "We've said that before."
By noon, I found my shoe in the freezer
and my dignity under the couch with the chips.
I made toast, swore off cocktails,
and googled "Is it possible to detox from fun?"
Next weekend?
Probably doing it again -
but I'll bring aspirin this time.