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.