Glorious

'Nnnyyuugghh?'
An incomprehensible groan is all I can manage as I am rudely awoken by the melodic saxophones of Sly Mr Fox.
Christ, 6:39 AM. Where am I? A double bed in a magnolia dream of a bedroom, all sweeping cream drapes and chocolate leather photo frames. Beside me, a blonde, whose bob is stuck to her face by a crusty trail of dribble.
'H,' I gently implore, 'Wake up!'
The overwhelming tiredness spares me no mercy- pain! Agonising pain! I didn't even drink- we just stayed up until the small hours eating pizza and watching Roswell box sets! Such is life, I guess- the worst headaches follow the most pathetic nights in.
The mirror is just as unforgiving as the fatigue- mad hair, deep dull eye bags, the remnants of last nights eyeliner swept across my cheek.
30 minutes, two glasses of fruit juice, 1 pair of GHD's and a few minor miracles later, and I'm looking as good as can be expected. We're bundled into the car, huddled in parkas and squashed together by assorted picnic tables.
Why, why did I agree to this? Mainly because I'm poor- the fund I've hoarded from my three failed attempts at employment is dwindling, and honestly, flogging cheap tat at an indoor market is the best option.
Upon arrival, I praise the Lord for whoever invented lifts, even if it is a bit of a squeeze with all our boxes of junk and display tables. Christ, I shouldn't be up yet.
The next few hours are a blur of trying to make our tat look buyable, checking out the competition and getting an eyeful of the cute checkout guy in M+S ("Did you see him?" "Cute in a messed-up hair sort of way, kind of like K's ex?" "That's the ticket- hot daaayyymn!")
My shift on our embarrassingly poor stall ends at 11- I am thrown at the mercy of the local public transport system.
In go the earphones: Mariana's Trench on full volume, baby.
Out come the contents of my pockets: Phone, MP3, purse, loose change outside of purse, handful of bangles, tickets upon tickets upon ticket, a stray jellybean or two.
And scattered around is my impromptu bus picnic lunch- spinach and pesto pasta, hot chili crisps, fruit salad, and of course chocolate.
Of course, I completely miss my second bus- apparently, running behind the bus, waving your arms and yelling 'WAIT! WAIT!' only works in the movies. All the best things only work in the movies.
2 hours later, I'm finally with The Squeeze (yes, he lives that far away). I dive down onto the bed, bury myself underneath the covers.
'Are you OK?'
'Yeh, yeh. I just... fancy a nap.' I giggle.
'Of course you do.'
Of course I don't. It doesn't take long until we're together, more together than we've ever been before, the kind of together that makes napping the last thing on my mind.
We travel- his house, my house, cross-bloody-county. He sees my family, I see his- we make polite conversation, but I think both of us are thinking about that glorious afternoon. What does it mean, we ask ourselves. It means nothing really- nothing has changed, nothing will change. I love him, he loves me, and it's just something that happens. It's fun, but so are alot of things. What we have isn't defined my one glorious afternoon.
After dropping in for a cup of tea (I'm technically staying with H this weekend, whilst her parents are having a long-weekend in Spain), just so my mother knows I'm still breathing, he walks me back to H's. We kiss, he holds me, tels me he doesn't want to leave. We both know he will, in search of chips.
At H's door, I am greeted by my whole band of friends, in skimpy pyjamas. Together, they chorus:
'BLATANTLY got some!'
And I did.
They scream in delight.

We dance until the wee hours- there's vodka and girl talk and a close encounter of the male kind (luckily, the boys didn't manage to inflitrate in the house- they may have been disappointed to find us without make-up, swigging back vodka and discussing foreplay, and not the naked pillow fight they were envisioning).
Girly sleepovers realy are the best- you get to order in food whenever, dance without worrying about high heels and looking sexy, sleep in an actual bed in actual pyjamas with no make-up to worry about. And of course, there's brilliant conversation and random escapades.

The day is long, relentless- memorable. I make it until 4:30 AM until I finally keel over. Everyone has left by the time I come around- me and H tidy up quietly,comfy T-shirt dresses and revitalising moisturiser the orders of the day. When I finally leave that night to quickly update my politics notes for school on Monday, I'm knackered- but this glorious long weekend will stay with me for quite some time.