Saturday mornings

When I was younger my Saturday mornings were different:

Oh god.  Uh.  Why is it so bright in here?  I need a drink.  Oh god, my head.  Well, at least I made it home.  How did I get home?  Did I sleep in my trousers?  No.  Where are my trousers?  Where is my wallet?  Where is my phone?  Where’s my jacket?  Why am I awake?

Last Saturday morning I hoovered and cleaned.  Growing up isn’t so bad.

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