Everyone knows that after a good night of drinking, there are a lot of things we’re worried about. Did I leave my card at the bar? Did I drunk text my ex? Did I drunk text my mother-in-law and tell her I hate her cooking? Did I make sure not to wake my husband when I got home? You know, the usual worries.
It’s a mixed bag.
I guess there are some of us who are somewhere in the middle. I can have kids and still go out with my girlfriends and absolutely lose my phone in the cab.
Drunk me thinks I can do anything.
In all honesty, when I get a few beers inside of me, I think that I am invincible. I can do absolutely anything and all you have to do is watch and hold my beer.
It’s me who needs the help.
If you’re going to complain about me drunk texting you, the least you can do is have some sympathy for me because I’m the one who has the half-working brain!
Always telling me I am the worst.
When you wake up in the morning and wish you had never had those last three shots of vodka at the bar, it’s your body saying you’re a big dumb dumb.
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Am I yelling? Yup, I’m yelling.
For some reason I feel like the alcohol is drowning my hearing and I have to yell for everyone to hear me. I’m sorry, I just wanted to tell you something privately… well, now publicly.
It’s a never-ending cycle.
We all have a stash of wine that we don’t touch so we can regift it and bring it to other people’s homes. Except, when we accidentally gift the wine that the same person gifted to us. Yikes.
Amen, sister!
When all else fails and we want to spice things up, adding a few drinks gives us the same impact of wearing a super good push-up bra. A little extra umph.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
Drunk texts are not drunk texts anymore. Instead, we are now referring to them as remorse codes. If I send you a remorse code, I want to say sorry. I’m remorseful.
Yikes, I did, didn’t I?
As we get older, we realize going out drinking may land us into some unforeseen plans that we definitely didn’t want to agree to. It’s not about throwing up at the bar, it’s about throwing up from the hike.
Who is she? I don’t know her.
Drunk me and sober me are two different people. Who is she? I’m not entirely sure. But I definitely don’t know her or want to know her that well. She’s a stranger.
Count me out.
Manual labor? Getting up early? No, thank you. Bring me those bottomless margaritas and let me sleep for a few hours, thank you so much and have a nice day!
