Fuse

four | hangovers

S P E N C E R J A M E S O N

I woke up this morning with one of the worst hangovers I've ever experienced. Harlow is not one to be trusted around alcohol. She clearly doesn't understand that there's a limit when it comes to the amount you consume.

She's a terrible influence. But I love her nonetheless.

Alcohol isn't usually my thing but for some reason,
I didn't really care last night. I just felt as though I needed to try to have fun — either that or drown my sorrows away.

It was amazing though. What I can remember of it anyway. For the first time in a long time I actually enjoyed myself. What a strange sensation, to enjoy. I can't remember the last time I did something that I liked that much.

We went to a few bars in town and I watched hopelessly as Harlow drank more and more at each one. She's the worst drinker ever. The biggest lightweight I've ever met, and trust me, that's not good when you're trying to get her home.

I could barely see straight myself, and I was left tying to be the navigator for the two of us. It was a sight, I'll say that much.

We spent the night at Harlow's place and when we both woke up feeling like absolute shit, we somehow managed to cook some bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast.

Best hangover cure in my opinion. Not that I've had many in the past to have the expert knowledge, but for the few I have had.. they've done the trick.

Harlow was a little better when she woke up than I was though. I would love to know how because she was completely out of it last night.

I'm surprised she was even able to move from her bed at all, let alone cook a large breakfast for the two of us.

I have to give it to her though, she's an amazing cook. There's no point in me even attempting to crack an egg because it will just end in disaster. Cracking eggs is one of the things I just can't seem to hack. I always happen to get parts of the shell in the yolk and it drives me crazy.

Harlow on the other hand, strutting around the kitchen like fricking Gordon Ramsay, putting me to shame.

"Come on dolly daydream," she quips a she picks her bag up. I raise my brows and she smiles cheekily. "I signed up to this gym the other day and desperately need a partner.. so we're going shopping to get you some gym-wear and then you're coming with me to work out!"

She what? My eyes widen and I shake my head quickly. If Marshall found out I was going to a gym he would be so mad. The gym-wear alone would send him into a fit of rage, never mind the talks of all the men who could possibly be staring at me.

As if she can sense my panic, she rolls her eyes, leaning forward and grabbing my arm. "Come on Spence, I'm not asking you to murder someone, just a little time at the gym with your bestest friend ever."

I can't help but smile at her as she waits with a hopeful glint in her eye, knowing that I'm probably the biggest pushover on the planet and rarely ever say no. 

Much to my disappointment, I end up giving in and nodding, causing her to squeal happily as she pulls me up from the chair and out of her apartment, barely allowing me to pick up my purse on the way.

The mall is busy as usual, with crowds of people carrying ridiculous amounts of shopping bags. Harlow pulls me into a store and searches through the many racks of clothes like her life depends on it.

I've never seen someone shop so passive aggressively, with a determined look on her face and a warning glare to anyone who gets within two metres of her.