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?"