There are those nights when you go out and have a shitload of fun and then there are those nights when you think you had fun, but you can't quite remember. Here is a list of indicators that pretty much guarantee you did.
Waking up with a full face of make up, smudgy red lipstick looking very crack-whore chic. Arm decorated with no less than seven grubby stamps, none of which give you any clue of where you may have graced with your presence. Skittles on the floor, in your pockets, under the sheets. Nursing what you can only assume to be some sort of dance floor related broken hip, hazy memories of a slippery surface somewhere. Inbox full of unknown numbers: "Who's this?" Who's this indeed. Wallet full of little white ATM slips where all your millions used to be hanging out. Broken elbow. Shaky hands. Queasy tummy. Ingrained frown. Durian in the fridge.
Ahhhhh.... fun is fun.
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