The Morning After… Waking Up With A Minga
You will never guess… I’m not sure how it happened. I was at a friend’s party but there were some strangers there, folks visiting, or something. I wake up in a strange bed, in a strange room, next to a chick that nearly makes my heart stop. What the hell was I thinking last night? I don’t remember, and that is part of the problem. Clearly we’d done something… the evidence is all over the room, with the tossed clothes and lipstick smears.
I’m looking at this girl and wondering exactly how the hell I convinced myself this was OK last night. There’s really nothing about her in the light of day I’m attracted to. Gross error of judgment there. She’s a plump girl, very round, overly robust, even. That would not be an issue, but for the fact that I don’t find her face attractive either. A girl has to have one or the other, a hot body or a lovely face, and this one has neither. So, I’d not call her pretty – at least not under the morning’s harsh light. Her hair is thin and dull and just a little greasy. Her skin is kind of the darkish blotchy tan. I’m really hoping I used a condom last night.
She gets up and jiggles off… leaving me to figure out how to make my escape. Her thin tinny voice carries back about breakfast. Clearly she’s wanting to make nice, like it’s the start of a relationship or something. Im suddenly very sober – she’s just not my type. I’m thinking “how do I get out of this mess without hurting anyone?” I know if I play nice I’ll hurt her later. I could lie and say I got a call on my cell, that I have got to go. If I can find it. My first goal is to get to the bathroom and wash up though.
I get up and gather my clothes. Luckily I do remember what I wore, and my things are pretty easy to find. A warm washcloth later and I’m dressed, looking through my cellphone messages. I can’t even remember the girl’s name. I’m not seeing a phone number. I do consider trying to go out the bathroom window to avoid having to say anything. Instead I work myself up like I just got an important call, flush the toilet, and rush out.
She’s in her kitchen, and I stammer out that I’m sorry, I have to go – got an emergency at work, and so forth. She moves to me, I suspect for a kiss. I don’t stop to give her one, and part of me is glad she put a robe on. I tell myself I’ll talk to my friend and find out who she is, maybe send her a break up letter or some “lets be friends” flowers or something. In any case, I get out the door and vow to never drink that much at a party again.
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