One thing I neglected to mention that happened during my celebration was the aftermath. So it was understood that I was going to be drunk, so My Guy was my designated driver. I have absolutely no clue how many drinks I had that night. In fact, I don’t recall feeling fucked up until I got to his house. But before I get to that part let me explain how I thought I was okay. So we leave the club and I remember singing in his car all the way to his house. The radio was on some R&B station playing all of my cuts. I remember walking into his house and taking off my shoes, he helped me out of my dress. Where I went wrong was when I laid out on his bed. The room started to spin and that was it, lol.
I jumped up and made a dash for his toilet. I threw up on the damn toilet seat (I didn’t even think to lift the seat cover). All of my dinner came up (sorry to be graphic). I remember he came in and washed my face and the seat cover. I then went back to lie down in his bed. Yet 10 minutes later I had to make another run. Four trips later, I finally passed out on the bed. I recall him asking me in between the third and fourth trip if I wanted some toast. He said I mumbled something and then passed out.
I woke up the next morning feeling and smelling like shit. Usually when I throw up I at least brush my teeth (not that night). As I began to turn over I guess he could feel me moving so he grabbed my body next to his. I was too messed up to realize or even care what happened a few hours earlier.
Today sober and coherent I thought about that night, and felt a little embarrassed. We joked about it while he was taking me back home. But he saw me at my lowest. I looked like a train wreck the next morning. He was there for me when I needed him to be, and that’s why he’s My Guy…