I feel so sick. What the hell was I thinking, drinking all those cocktails?
I can hardly remember anything since I got in the car to come home.
That’s weird. I was fine when I left the club.
I get up, go to the bathroom, and then take a look at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild. My hot, smoky makeup from last night now looks like a half dead racoon. I look like road kill.
Oh, dear God, my breath.
I squeeze toothpaste on my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth while I feel sorry for myself, staring at my reflection. And now I have to babysit today while Mr. Masters plays golf.
A fleeting image of myself dancing in the kitchen crosses my mind.
Wait, when was that?
Did I?
I close my eyes as I try to remember what happened last night.
Was he already awake? Did I wake him up?
O
