FiFi Jo's Morning After the Night Before

One Monday morning - somewhere in your city....


6.00am:

I meander along Main Street eating a croissant and looking into shop windows admiring my reflection. Feeling very 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' until I discover my beehive looks more like a birds nest, my dress has hand prints about the cleavage and a tyre mark across the hem, one kitten heel has broken off and my croissant is actually cold toast. I stick out my expensively buffed and polished hand for a cab to immediately stop in front of me as per my status decrees, but just get weird looks from a teenager on a skateboard. Consider this mode of transportation for a moment but will not allow myself to stoop to riding in anything without tinted windows, or indeed an engine.



6.03am

Arrive home after endless walk of shame.



6.04am

Pass out.



3.18pm

I am awoken in my front garden flower bed by buzzing sounds, to discover birds nest hairdo is now a real beehive.



3.18.30pm

Vow never to drink a carafe of cherry vodka followed by 6 Jagerbomb shooters EVER AGAIN!



4.45pm

I ring work and explain I will not be in today, as am suffering from RSI of wrist. Boss explains cannot get Repetitive Strain Injury from dancing on tables, and that as I start work at 9.00am he had understandably figured out I wasn't coming in. He then takes great pains in chuckling down the phone that I had missed out on Cheryl from HR's birthday mudcake and gift giving afternoon. Why he thinks I care to see a 65 year old woman opening naughty underwear presents and crying about the lack of love life on which to use them is beyond me. Reminded myself to get the $1.50 back that I had put in.



5.10pm

As don't own fridge decide to trundle down to local wine bar for 'Happy Hour' pick-me-up and free nibbles between 5.00 - 6.00pm.



5.20pm

Couple at table next to me complain of lack of food whilst wait-staff explain that they usually order enough to last the full hour. Luckily I can stay svelt no matter how much I eat thanks to my Swedish genes (12 generations past) and the lack of money spent on actually buying anything edible.



5.37pm

Call from best friend needing assistance with two American sailors, a jug of alcopop and a "rather posh penthouse with real art" in City.



6.00am

I walk along Main Street in Backwater Suburb eating a croissant and looking into shop windows admiring my reflection....