decota

Under L. Marie

The sun is shinning. The birds are singing. My head is pounding. And I have no idea where the fuck I parked my car. Oh the Walk of Shame. I have been on so many I dont even feel ashamed anymore. In fact I have made certain precautions so as to lessen the shamefulness of this act that happens oh-so-often. I plan ahead to make myself more comfortable because nine times out of ten I will probably end up staying the night in a bed that is not my own.

So that I dont look like a walking billboard that screams I got fucked last night I try to limit my footwear to things that dont have heels. Nothing is more obvious then wearing high heels at 10am. If I do decide to wear heels, I make sure I throw a pair of flats in my purse. Cause really? Whats the point of carrying a gigantic grandma bag if you dont put random and useful shit in it? I found these things at Target, called Fast Flats; I swear their only purpose is lessening the shame of fuck-me-pumps at 10am.

I also try not to get too dressed up at night either. Along with heels, having a very ornate night club style dress on looks just as fucking retarded at 10am. I almost always go out in leggings and comfortable shirts that arent too flashy. I try not to wear too much make up. And If I have mascara smeared all over my face, I find it never hurts to spend a few minutes in dudes bathroom to pull myself together.

Ill wash my face, have a pee, and try to get as fresh as possible. I just wash as much as the same off as I can in the sink and save the rest for the comforts of home and my own shower. I like to carry one of those little travel toothbrushes and steal the dudes toothpaste in the morning so I dont have stink ass breath on my way home. A hair brush helps too. Some form of perfume. Maybe even a spare shirt in the Grandma bag too. I have even borrowed dudes deodorant before. Just cause I could. And who doesnt like the smell of Old Spice?

You dont have to be a girl with a huge sack of shit to be able to prep for the night out either. That travel toothbrush is small enough to fit in a pocket. So gentlemen, you have no reason you cant feel as fresh as a hung-over squirrel in a minty forest too.

If Im unlucky enough not to get a ride to/from where ever the hell it is Ive ended up, I usually have the daunting task of trying to figure out where I am or where the hell I left Betty White. Before I had a GPS on my phone, I had to resort to more analog ways of finding my way. Many-a-times I would step out into the unforgiving sunshine and think, where the FUCK am I? At which point I would rack my brain to find local landmarks and retrace my wobbly steps. Or if I really didnt know, Id just call a cab ask the nearest 7-11 or gas station clerk for the major cross streets, which did one of two things. One, Id realize I was six blocks from my house, think, well fuck that was easy, and walk-of-shame on home. Or two, Id have never even heard of those streets and grabbed more cash from the ATM cause it was going to be one helluva cab ride home.

But even with the GPS, I only know where I am. I have no idea where I left Betty. Usually after walking up and down the same three adjacent blocks with my hand on my forehead, I eventually find her. Its always such a great reunion. I kiss her a lot and give her hood a big hug when I find her because thats how happy I am to see my Betty White.

Theres a lot of shame in wondering around looking for youR car in last nights clothes no matter how good you smell. So now, I GPS myself right after I park Betty and take a snapshot of where we are. Im sure theres an app for that. Drunken Car Finder or some derivative. But much like last night, where I forgot to even roll my passenger window up, chances are Ill be too drunk to remember to use it. And If Im sober enough to remember to GPS my car, I usually dont have so much trouble remembering where I left Betty. But knowing where I tucked her in for the night always helps to reduce the shame.

See, the thing about the Walk of Shame that makes it shameful is that fact that you feel like ass. Whether youre bouncing out of your best gal pals place or some random dude you gave a 4am blow-job to (whose name might be Brett? Brent? Brian? Ill just call him Babe till Im outta here), doesnt really matter. Its all about the attitude. If youre sulking off and trying not to be seen by the people walking their dogs, the commuters on their way to work, or the old Japanese man manicuring the Zen Garden in his front lawn, then yes, you are shameful. But only because youre sulking, wondering around, or carrying your stilettos in your hand.

If you walk out that door with your head held high, GPS in hand, proper footwear, fresh breath and reeking of Old Spice, youll feel better. If you feel better, youll walk more confidently and you wont give a shit that your shirts on backwards and inside-out.