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Local woman Emma Clarke is cursing her past self after coming home from a night out only to find her bed with stripped sheets.
Emma’s day had begun with high hopes and a cleaning spree. She stripped her bed, fully intending to wash, dry, and remake it before heading out for drinks. Somewhere between loading the machine and pre-drinks, however, her domestic enthusiasm evaporated faster than a vodka soda.
“I don’t even know why I started it,” Emma groaned, squinting at the cold, exposed mattress at 2 a.m. “I was feeling productive earlier, so I stripped the sheets to wash them.
And now here I am—tired, drunk, and betrayed by my own optimism.”
“I distinctly remember thinking, ‘Oh, I’ll just deal with it when I get home.’” Emma paused, glaring at the pile of unwashed bedding slumped in the corner like a monument to failure.
“Why did I believe in drunk-me? She’s never done anything responsible ever. Past-me is an absolute menace.”
Defeated and semi-conscious, Emma resorted to sleeping on her housemate’s couch, armed with a scratchy IKEA throw, some questionable cushions, and a face full off make-up she hadn’t removed, Emma drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow, with a hangover and a lingering sense of shame, Emma hopes to finally complete the chore she so optimistically started.
