When we talked

I was drunk. Since it was the first time I got drunk, inferring how much I was drunk is a bit difficult. I do remember that I talked and talked a lot; saying things that made perfect sense, but lost the purpose when I repeated them twenty times. It was somewhere between the first few pints and my shutting-down-of-conscious-thought-lessness that I had managed to grab hold of my phone and send a text, well actually multiple texts. The texts went to an old friend-my first crush-and the agent of my friendzoning torture.

I miss you, you know.

I really really really miss you.

I had a drink.

I had drinks and vodka and beer

I think I am pretty much drunk.

The next morning I realized what I had done, and was a bit terrified, given that this particular friend became upset every time ‘the topic’ came up. I checked my phone-two texts from him.


How much did you drink?

How on earth do you like vodka? It tastes terrible!

I called him up; I had to talk to him.



“Are you hung-over?”

“I think not.”

“Could you not decide what to drink, so you had all?”

“It was a party, we had all, so I had to drink, had to try out.”


“You should have red wine.”

“Well, that’s next on my list, on your suggestion.”

“You didn’t mind, did you? I sent those texts.”

“No, why would I! I know you love me.”

And that was the end of that conversation. He didn’t hang up, I did, as always.


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