You wake up feeling good. Like, really good. Eerily good; like, this-feeling-can’t-be-real good. Your brain is cloudy, your head heavy. You can’t even recall the previous night’s events, which probably explains your joyful mood. Then, the cloud in your head starts to slowly dissipate and, as they part and glimmers of sun begin to peek it’s way through, you take a deep inhale and suddenly think to yourself, “Did someone bake a fart in my kitchen?” And then: the memories. At high-speed, they all start flooding back — making farm animal noises as if actually drunk on drunken noodles, the extra pineapples never materializing with the fried rice, scallion pancakes piled up high, scooping up pad thai with your hands and then shoveling it into your mouth.
It’s too much — the memories are making your head spin. You try to relax, and begin to doze off again but are suddenly jolted awake by a low, deep grumbling in the pits of your stomach. If you didn’t know better you’d think there was a zombie living inside of you, trying to get out..through your butt.
And so you surrender; you roll out of bed and charge to the bathroom. “I’m a woman and I know what I want!” you chant over and over to yourself until you enter the bathroom and — whoops, you fall. It’s pad thai grease and it’s everywhere, namely coating your bathroom floor. And suddenly more memories come flooding back: of you drawing a bath, you sitting in 3 inches of tepid water, you bringing the pineapple fried rice into the bath, devouring it and letting loose bits of scallion and chunks of egg fall into the tub with you.
You shake your head — extricate the memories from your mind! You look up at the mirror, about to splash some cold water on your face, but instead scream in horror: it appears you’ve developed adult acne over night. And — wait a second — who’s that strange man sleeping in your bed? And how did you not notice him before? Curry tends to cloud the mind like that.
You start to feel woozy and hear odd sounds: the purring of cats, coupled with an ominous Twin Peaks-like melody. You wonder if you’re hallucinating. You’re not positive, but you think there’s a fire currently trying to escape your butt. You’re tired; you need at least 5 more hours of sleep; you can’t deal. And so you take the cold pad thai out of the fridge and finish it off in bed, using the strange man’s back as a tray.