Less than half an hour into the New Year and my only remaining party buddy was the toilet, second cubicle on the left. Happy bloody New Year I thought, just as I threw up for the fourth time already that night.
I was thinking about everything that happened last year and I thought about when my sister got married. I personally hated her fiancÃÂ©; well actually I've always loathed that word fiancÃÂ©. It makes me think of size eight posh spice look-alikes and huge diamond rings worth more than a small country. Courtney planned everything; she made me go over her hair do plans for me, my mother and the twenty-six bridesmaids! I remember in the car on the way home she planned the eight-layer cake and a full lilac colour scheme. The word boring came to mind when I started to drift into la la land. By the time I came back to the real world, Courtney had worked out all the hymns, seating arrangements and decided that she wanted pink sweets to be handed round for the guests to choke on.
My sisters wedding had taken over eighteen months to plan, which made me think of what my wedding would be like or if I would remain permanently single.
I was trying to think back to how I ended up like I am now. I think it must have been the two bottles of wine, champagne, beer and three vodka cocktails. I had my cheek pressed firmly against the cold rim of a wet toilet and sometime later I had ended up falling off my stool at a nearby bar and getting a cherry stuck up my nose. This was hardly the New Year celebration I had planned; I mean I didn't even have a date.