Friday, May 23, 2014

Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. Shit!

I slip out of bed as quietly as humanly possible. At least until my legs get caught up in the sheet and I land on my back with a loud THUD. Hardwood floors are soooo unnecessary! My mind screamed. I finagle my feet out of the sheets and peered over the top of mattress. He was still snoring. I let out a sigh of relief. I crawl around, looking for my clothes. Shoes, check. Dress, check. Where in God's name are my bra and panties?!

I slowly stand, watching Brad sleep. And listening for any change in his breathing. Or is it Ben? Bob? Oh dear God, not again. I finally find my panties, flung somehow onto a lampshade. Just like in a movie. I give myself an eye roll as I slip my panties on. Now if I could just find my bra . . . Oh. My. God. Seriously?! Somehow, as if by a miracle, or Karma, my bra is wedged under Brad, or Ben, or whatever his name is. I decide it's not worth it since there's an extra in my hotel room.

Speaking of which, I suddenly realize that I have absolutely no idea where I am. As I wiggle back into my dress, I look around and deduce that it's not a hotel room; it's the guy's apartment. I tiptoe out to the hall and glance around - I can't see that he has a family or significant other. He probably told me that last night. I find my purse in a chair in the living room and grab my cell phone. A couple missed calls and several missed text messages. I looked up a number for a cab company but realized before I dialed, again, that I have no idea where I am.

Nice going, slick. I tiptoe to the front door, unlock it as quietly as possible and quickly found out that it could use a smidge of WD-40. I open the door, slipp out and shut it quietly.  I run down the front steps, reach the sidewalk and breathe a sigh of relief. I slip my shoes on and walk a few houses down and dial the cab company. A few minutes later, my savior was driving a yellow car. As long as it's not the "Cash Cab", I'm good.

Back at my hotel, I shower, change clothes and brace myself to check my phone again. I check the voicemail first.

"Hey babe, just checking in. I'm sure you're letting loose a bit after that horrible seminar you had. Just wanted to tell you I love you and I can't wait until you get home. Travel safe."

I. am. the. worst. person. in. the. world. Next I check the text messages. One from Andy wishing me a good morning and several from my boss. The latter was not to wish me a good morning. Suddenly a text message came in from an unknown number. "Yo babe, ya left witout sayin bye. Was hopin 4 a repeet of last nite."

The man can't even spell "repeat". I scratch my head, wondering what I had seen in Brad-Ben-Bob. Oh . . . that's right. A six pack and a nice ass. And Tequila. Lots and lots of Tequila. But I had given him my number? I hadn't done that before. But then, I hadn't done the whole cheating thing in awhile. Not since meeting Andy. Andy was different, he made me want to be a better person. He knew about my history; that I had cheated before. I earned his trust. And in one night I ruined it. The wedding is two months away. I'm not even stressed about it. Everything has been taken care of. All I have to do is look forward to it. I am, right? I am looking forward to it? I want this more than anything, right? I keep finding myself signing my name, with my new last name. I don't feel like a Princess in my wedding gown . . . I feel like a Queen and I love wearing it. I do, right? I hate myself for what I've done.

I call the airport and change my flight. Screw the rest of the seminar and flying home on a packed commuter flight. I pack my bags and check out of the hotel. The war in my head already giving me a migraine. I got another cab, telling him to take me to the airport.  What have I done? Why did I drink the Tequila?? I know what it does to me. And Andy? What about him? What about us? Will he call the wedding off? Will I? Will I even tell him? What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Right? No, it'll eat me up alive. I have to tell him. How? Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

To make matters worse, Brad-Ben-Bob won't stop texting me. I finally tell him to fuck off. Evidently I chose poorly last night since even "fuck off" doesn't seem to sink in. Picked a real winner, didn't I? Loser.

The flight seemed to take forever even though it was only a quick commuter flight of 45 minutes. Another cab ride later and I am home. Andy wouldn't be home from work for another few hours.
I walk in the house and started crying. I drag my suitcase up the stairs, loving the carpet as opposed to the hardwood flooring from this morning, and walk into the bedroom.

"What the fuck?!" I exclaim.

The sight before me was nearly more than I could take. Andy was in bed. And so was some blonde chick. On top of him. They scramble to cover themselves up as I just stand there, completely shocked. And angry. I know I had really screwed up and had some explaining to do, but what the hell was this?!

"Um, sweetie . . . hi . . . I thought you were getting home later tonight?" 


  1. Not in that exact scenario, but I can relate to the beginning of this story :) my BFF also says tequila is the reason her daughter is here. Not sure if this is fiction but it's so well written it feels real, it takes you there and takes ME back to times when I was real ... "human."

    1. Complete fiction. I hate Tequila, unless it's in a margarita. Plus I've never cheated. ;) All part of the Indie Chick Lit writing prompt. Glad you enjoyed it! :)


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