If, like myself, you indulged in bottomless prosecco related activities this New Years Eve, you will understand this cycle all too well.
#1, The Headache
You wake up checking that your face is still attached. Where are you? How did you get here? Yes, you still have your make-up on, you disgusting cretin. Then the pounding starts, undulating, your brain screaming at you, “WHY?!”. You scurry until you locate and neck two paracetamol (sometimes a third for luck).
#2, Excruciating Thirst
Water is your friend, must drink all the liquids within reach.
*Accidentally swigs last nights G&T*
#3, Puke City
You’ve just undone all of the good managed in previous points 1 and 2.
All of this exertion has wiped you out, the only solution is to nap, you’ve earned it.
Awaking several hours later, you feel partially human once again. Not human enough to wash or remove your pyjama bottoms that have been fashionably paired with last nights top, but enough to forage. You hobble to the fridge, bent over, not quite ready to fully extend, and rummage for whatever takes your fancy. If you are anything like me, a few picnic eggs and some leftover pizza should suffice for now.
#6, Puke City round 2
You weren’t ready – revert back to stage #4.
#7, Back to Hunger
After another couple of hours snoozing and watching mind numbing TV (my suggestions include Grease Live, Monte Carlo or anything starring Hilary Duff), you are ready, you know you are ready. You pick up your phone and head to the Just Eat app, where you proceed to order a Chinese meal for 4.
The key thing to remember here is that even if you aren’t fully confident in your readiness to binge eat, you will inevitably have to wait an hour for it to arrive, by which point you will be congratulating your own forward thinking.
#8, Regret & Self-Loathing
You’ve devoured all that you can, which isn’t as much as you’d have liked. It’s dark out, you’ve started to smell yourself, it’s time to wash. You head to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You’ve gone from being an absolute bombshell the night before to a shell of your former self, your hair is matted with sweet and sour sauce, the remnants of prawn crackers sit in your cleavage, your feet are black and you have the outline of your favourite throw cushion etched into your face.
You disgust yourself.
You’re never drinking again.
Or you’re at least doing dry January.
Although, they do say the hair of the dog is the best hangover cure…
*Goes back to fridge*