Yesterday was Mark's twenty-fourth birthday and I never even knew. 'I never knew! You should have told me, I could've pelted him with stuff', I scolded Roisin. We both paused and looked at each other.
'I'm getting this strong feeling...I did tell you,' she said, haltingly.
'I know. I'm getting that too. Last night maybe?'
'Did I, was I talking to you last night then? Oh! I remember. Dave rang me and said Lucy is looking for you and says she's going to take Martina hostage if you don't come up here and-'
'Yes, it's all coming back now! And you said-'
'I said I was down the ladies slip with Jamie 'cos he needed a wee.'
'Yes! I remember. So when did you tell me about Mark's birthday then?'
We both shuffled about and looked blank. 'It was yesterday, here in work!' I stared into her equally shocked eyes.
'Does that mean we were both sober? And we don't remember? Weird...'
You know that thing when you only remember bits of a night out, like after a really shitty film and you only remember that sex bit and the bit when you got up to go to the loo and knocked over your popcorn on the way back? Yeah. Well, somewhere between my seventh and four hundreth vodka I lost all ability to store information.
'That is a lovely dress,' I told a girl in the loo, 'you should wear it more often.' I have never met this girl before.
'You have tiny, distrustful eyes', I told Sally's paramour.
'Ooh Ross, you look ravishing behind that bar, I'm undressing you with my eyes!', I told Jenny's Ross [I have a tendency to over-italicise when drunk].
'Please don't', he said gravely.
'Gimme three vodkas in a pint glass so, straight in, no messing about with ice or anything.'
'Three? You sure, Luce?'
'Don't talk back to me, child.'
'Look at my fake tan, ain't it lovely? You can't even tell I put it on drunk, can you?' I demanded of Mossy, throwing my shapely, kick-pleat-clad pins in his lap for inspection.
'Your legs look dirty', he replied.
Ah. Selective memories. How golden and vodka-soaked ye are.