Ibiza, Spain
I woke up with a million questions. Why did I go to bed wearing my bikini? Why are the leaves from the flowerpot in the hallway strewn on the foot of my bed? Where did I get these scratches on my elbows and foot? How did I even get to bed in the first place? Dear God, I hope I didn't need to get carried to bed. That would be beyond mortifying.
I scanned my foggy brain for clues from last night ... a white night party ... late night swim in the pool ... a crazy game involving holding on to a gadget that could potentially give you an electric shock if you're the last to click a switch ... various drinking games where holding certain cards, saying "no", and saying someone's name meant having to down your drink ... "Buffalo!!!" ...
Ah. Buffalo. The most lethal of drinking games. That explains everything.
I woke up a second time with a knock on the door. It was JF making sure I was okay and not worshipping at the feet of the porcelain goddess. It turned out he had called me on a lethal Buffalo and after that I disappeared and escaped to this bedroom. "Good job, drunk Cel. Thank you," I thought. There was apparently an attempt to convince me to get changed but I couldn't be coaxed out of bed. I have absolutely no recollection of this.
All I know is, I'm in Ibiza.
I get up, shower, brush my teeth, change into a fresh bikini, and go back out in the sun.
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