My wedding was pretty spectacular. Not going to lie. Sure, I had stressed myself to the point of SEVEN canker sores overpopulating my mouth and I couldn’t eat much food, but the whole affair was pretty awesome and one that people are still talking about. (Open bar. Need I say more?)
During the day we realized that we had forgotten a few things at home that were pretty important (breast pump, hubby’s medication) and not things we could go without, so we decided that we would fore-go the hotel that night and just go home after the night wound up. This would mean that I couldn’t drink, but hey, who wants to drink on their wedding?
Ummm. ME. This sucked. I don’t NURSE wine, I POUND wine.
Two pretty awesome friends of mine decided that this was just not going to happen, and took off with my house key. They arrived back about an hour later with the essentials in tow and gave me carte blanche to get effin hammered.
And so I did.
And it took me all of about half an hour. The bartender was shit-faced herself and was serving up the strangest concoctions of just about every alcohol you could think of. I do believe my first one, aptly named ‘The Courtney” was a mixture of vodka, rum, whiskey and rye and maybe a splash of lime.
I remember weaving on the couch inside the house shortly after with my bridesmaids helping me shove my breasts back into my dress, but the rest of the evening is pretty foggy from there. Who am I kidding, it’s not even foggy. I don’t remember a second of it.
I woke up in the hotel wearing someone else’s clothes.
And still drunk.
So I leaned over and said “Pssst, honey, did we consummate our marriage last night?”
Hubby opened one eye, looked me square in the face and muttered “No honey, apparently I am selfish”.
Good thing he loves me.
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