Nigel Versus The Curtains

Just to put you out of your misery, the curtains won.

SO! Have arrived in Charlotte after a nightmare trip in the plane. Normally the Toronto Charlotte trip  is on a small plane, max of 24 people and if you stand up your head hits the ceiling. Usually there are four or five people on it. Yesterday there was 24. It was hideous. These planes aren’t designed for a full complement of people, certainly not the chunky Americans (and Australian)  on board.  The engines struggled, the take off was laboured, the plane wobbled like a jelly all the way up… It got better but only just.  Then the air conditioner turned itself off. Hurrah. Fortunately I survived the trip (obviously..) and then caught up with Trey and Wesley.

We went to the most fabulous restaurant, the Capital Grille in Charlotte. It was exquisitely decored (if that is such a word) and impressively priced. This place was fine. And it had THE most exquisite martini I have ever tasted. Superbness in a glass. So I had two. And we had wine, which somehow or another donated money to charity by us buying it. And all up, between the three of us, we had 1 and a half bottles. So keep this in perspective, two martinis and maybe if I was lucky two glasses of wine. Truly not a lot and, in normal circumstances, I would scoff at and ask for more.

I was hammered.

I have never in my life been more drunk. I attribute it to sleep deprivation and having flown 15 hours but I was so maggotted I couldn’t see straight. There was two of everyone, Wesleys, Treys, waiters, restaurants. I went to the toilet with Wesley and completely broke all tradition by having lovely chats with everyone in the toilet. Evidently it is the room for no discourse, much like a gay bar. (Minds out of the gutters please. It was all innocent. I was way, way too smashed to be of any use to anyone.) I walked back from the toilet and marvelled at the way the room was like a roller coaster, ups and downs and spinny.  We went back to the motel and I was poured out of the car. I walked through the lobby hoping that no one would realise how smashed I was. I staggered to my room, all the while giggling to myself that no one knew I was drunk then entered the room.

Then there was the curtains. Still open and ridiculing me with its openness. Being drunk yet sensible I tried to close the fricking things. Being drunk yet not sensible I had stripped off and thrown all my clothes on the floor in drunken piles of shame. Thus, dressed for battle, I began the curtain war. For the life of me I could not work out where the curtain rods were to pull them shut. I looked for ages. I gave up and tried to pull them shut with brute force. No luck. They weren’t budging. After twenty minutes of doing everything possible with the curtains I realised I was showing my all to Charlotte who possibly wasn’t too impressed to see the fat, naked drunken Australian swearing his head off while he tried to wrap himself with curtains. Eventually I stormed off to bed where I instantly lapsed into my alcoholic coma.

I woke at five where I could then see the curtain rods and see the pretend curtains they use to pretty up the room but don’t actually work. The real curtains were on the inside, behind the netting. I pulled them shut, swearing as I did so. Charlotte had seen more than enough of naked Nigel.

I

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