I mustered up enough courage to open my eyes. The first thing I saw was an empty container of ice cream. Strapped around my head like a feed bag.
"Please let that be the only thing," I said as I realized I was wearing an empty box of snickerdoodle cookies as a hat.
I scanned the room and then I saw it. My laptop. Still open. I ran over to see my credit card, steaming, lying next to it.
Oh please don't be what I think.
Please god no.
But it was.
I couldn't believe how irresponsible I had been. Had I learned nothing from the previous pain I had put myself through? All the torture and humiliation?
I signed myself up for the St. Patty's Day five mile run.
|Stop smiling. You have no idea what's about to happen to you.|
|That's 6,628th place, for those of you keeping score.|
It was too late. It was all over. I had been texting up a storm, bragging to my friends about how bad I am going to kick their asses and what huge pussies they are. Actually, because my fine motor skills were a bit sketchy only about half actually made it to my running friends. The others went to old clients and my grandma.
In between slugs of ibeuprofin and McGriddles on Saturday I tried to think of a way out of it. Fake my own death and hide out in Mexico until late March? That one sounded pretty good - a little vacation and then see who my true friends are who show up at my funeral all rolled into one brilliant little scheme. But then I feared Nick would take the life insurance money and buy some Taiwainese child bride or something and I didn't want to risk it.
There's no way I can back out now.
I am never drinking again. Well, until about an hour before the race, so I can forget what an awful experience it is going to be.