I woke up on a local playing field, beneath the stars. That’s lovely, you may be thinking. What a romantic thing to awaken to!

It might have been lovely, and it might have been romantic, had it not been for the wedding dress I found myself in.

Yes. Bugger.

You may now be thinking that there isn’t a problem with that. You could wake up in worse things, like, say, a puddle of breakfast that until an hour ago you’d been certain was in your stomach. Those amongst you who are more adventurous might wake up in a body bag, or worse… in your own graves.

Me? I woke up in a wedding dress, ring and boquet included, with the cosmic tapestry winking overhead. The smug bastard.

And here we have the real problem. I am In possession of an immense ginger beard. No, I’m not a freakshow runaway; I am a genuine, bona fide male.

At least I was the last time I checked.

The first thing I felt was a bitter exhaustion, followed by a distinct sense of ‘where the hell am I?’ - the feeling that, during the hours that my brain had so graciously omitted, I had done something that I would soon remember (aided by social networking, no doubt) and regret.

Have you ever tried piecing together the shards of a night that you don’t even possess? It’s bloody difficult. I lay alone, but for the occasional baffled dog-walker and pooch, and made what couldn’t even be called an attempt. The thing was I was still drunk, and would no doubt remain so for the next three days.

Still, through the fog, images came. I vaguely recalled visiting a friend’s house to apologise for running their snowman over the previous night. I was invited in for a friendly chat over a bottle or seven of cider - and then I was at a different house, at a party. The rest came in snapshots - getting my arse kicked at Asteroids, thinking Asteroids was Pong, then doing an impression of Margaret Thatcher which led to a slap in the face. Promising to shave my beard for charity. Then a drinking game, which involved an inflatable rubber ring and some playing cards…

And all of this led to me lying here, wearing a wedding dress. I suppose there was some kind of absurd logic to it… a logic that my brain stubbornly refused to comprehend.

I decided it would be a good idea to stand up. Which was all well and good, I suppose, until another, more drunken part of me decided it would be better to tumble under a bush and pass out.

And so I remained, completely wrecked, until the following morning. Whereupon I had the interesting job of explaining to the two bobbies that had found me of the events (or lack thereof) that had led me to this particular situation.

Still, I couldn’t moan. They might have found me while I was in the shower, and that would have been fun to explain.

Words: 505

Author's Notes: Apologies for any naffness; this was something I knocked together in an attempt to be one of those people who can throw together a nifty story in a matter of minutes. Read, comment, enjoy (if you can), and feel free to throw your peanuts!

I might continue this. It seems like a good beginning for a story, and though I'm aware of the idea being used before (i.e. the concept of people getting married by accident/not remembering it), I'm confident that, given enough thought, I could put an interesting spin on it.

Cross-posted to linebyline. Woe on you if you see it twice!