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Sunday I’m in love.

It’s sunday morning, I woke up with the worst hangover ever, I immediately start thinking about my age and all of my body aches, I mean Im in my mid 20’s, Im not considered old yet, but just the thought that 5 short years ago, I didn’t experience any of this hangover issues, that 5 short years ago I could hoover myself into fancy drinks and never wake up to a hangover, or a simple headache. sigh… good old days. Even though now when I sit (Read, collapsing miserably on my bed) and think about it, I would definitely never trade all the experience and maturity I have gained throughout the years for a Sunday free hangover. Just the thought of going back to the naive teenage years is scary, and the pimples… and the fashion… and the house-curfew…no, simply NO.

I don’t want you to get a bad impression of myself, I’m a social drinker… mostly at parties or the occasional girls night out. So let me tell you a little bit about myself, so we can all relate to the core of this article;  I’m a 25 year old, independent and strong woman, I’m single (We’ll get to that in a moment, after all, the title is sunday I’m in love) I work for a lifestyle magazine as an advertising artist, and I considered myself as creative, out going, fashionable and all the yuppy fun verbs that make one sound cool this days.

Sunday afternoon I’m feeling much better, water has never tasted as good before… I’m still walking around in my pj’s and I have no plans on taking them off, at least not today. After a full week of work, endless meetings and looking as good as one can (The hair, the make-up, the nails… you know what I mean), I hereby sentence by the honor of girls freedom and power, “SUNDAY ME”. This is a shout out to all girls reading this, SUNDAY is for you! And only you, to pamper yourself, to sleep all day, to not wear a bra, to stay in bed, to have someone cook for you, or simply for today, stop counting calories and indulge yourself into those guilty chocolatey donut-full carbloaded ice-creamy pleasures. 

This day is for me, I’m not going to think about my ex… at all. And just as a reminder, even thou that chick flick about the traveling blond around the world totally deserves a strong arm under my head, a huggable scent of alpha male in that cologne that drives me crazy, or the hairy image of him in his boxers, letting me choose light popcorn(Or how he like’s to call it “Nonflavoured sh…”) no, I said not thinking about him, about it… NO.

Sunday night, I watched the movie… It was supposed to be a comedy and I just cried for 90 minutes… I feel guilty… I haven’t moved a single bone since noon, I’m still collapsing in my bed but now surrounded by candy wrappers, chocolate cake crumbs, three different large cups(One for water, one for ice cream and one for strawberry milk), I probably just had an entire week of calories in my system and I’m seriously regretting obeying that “sunday me” law. Sigh… Oh the guilt… Maybe if I call him… NO. 

I’m confused… I thought “sunday me” was gonna make me feel great, I thought it was gonna give the energy necessary to face ol’scary monday morning, I thought it was going to be about me and not about him, that it was going to be about hydration and anti wrinkle moments… That sunday me was… -incoming text- … “I miss you babe”— … SIGH. Sunday him.

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