On reflection, two glasses would have sufficed.
That warm, conspiratorial, matey feeling quickly turns to foolishness, the effortless shedding of confidences like confetti whilst you’re helplessly aware that you should stop… leave. Now.
As the fourth glass skims your dulled palate, you strive to restore your initial euphoria, knowing from experience it’s never going to happen.
“Is my friend as drunk as me?” you wonder, hopefully.
Turns out she’s neither of those things.
As you flop out of the taxi, your husband greets you.
“We need to talk,” he says grimly.
When really you’ve done quite enough of that for today.
Haven’t we all been there? Oh… maybe just me then.. . 😦 Thanks again to Rochelle for her leadership of Friday Fictioneers. We appreciate what you do, Rochelle.