Regardless of the fact that religion is simply a fictional mythos that rational people should keep well away from, it may get one thing right. There may be a definite cost to sinning.
This lunch-time I woke up with a hang-over, I am sad to say. Last evening, the man of my life finally revealed his deep plotting about what we were going to do on the occasion of my birthday. He had in fact conspired with Stephen, and together they had arranged a night of dancing and music and birthday cakes. And far too much wine, beer, and tequila shots.
I distinctly remember that at one point, there was a game where the one who couldn’t finish his tequila shot in one go had to execute a dare. But since we’re all repressed and socially awkward people, the limits of our imagination only stretched to removing pieces of clothing. Yes, in the end there were a bunch of lads with their shirts off. I’m afraid it doesn’t get better than that though.
By the end of that game, there was dancing and more wine and beer and more dancing, and then this morning I woke up with a head that felt as if it was stuck in one of those big iron clamp tools which you screw at one end.
The only consolation is that the main culprit was even worse off than I, and he didn’t get out of bed until three PM. I managed to get up, alas with lots of groans, at around one.
When Mum rang to hear what we had done, she was coolly unsympathetic to my plight, and stated that truism which religion gets right. “Serves you right. You should know better, Col. If you do the crime, you do the pain.” Despite the consequences I suffered for most of the day, and which still linger, it was worth it. I had a fantastic time while it lasted.