It's 6 AM and you're being woken up by that one friend who thinks it's funny to wake you and the rest of the leftover party goers as loud as they possibly can at an ungodly hour (you know the one). First instinct is to check your phone to see the time because, if your throbbing head is any indication, it's far too early. Upon unlocking the screen, you see a text from your ex that's along the lines of "why did you text me last night?" or, if you're not so fortunate, "You're drunk. Leave me alone." Suddenly the throbbing in your head is amplified by about ten notches. You texted them last night? What? When? Ensue The Hangover becoming all too relatable as you quickly try to retrace your night and when/why you thought this was okay.

Breathe. Maybe you just sent a quick, "Hey!" or maybe you were far gone enough that your typing was too incoherent to translate. You're sure that you wouldn't have sent anything too incriminating, and you're probably just worrying for nothing. Worst case scenario: it's nothing a little damage control couldn't fix. It's time to scroll through the messages and see what you're working with.

 "Hey asshole remember me?"
 "Im druuuuuunk i miss you"
[A five page essay reliving every detail of your relationship and why they hurt you with a closing statement on how they need to come stay the night at your place]
 "sjkdjijiej ugh fine bye. im drunk."

At this point you've either thrown your phone across the room, found the nearest hole to crawl into and die, or started questioning if moving out of the country is financially realistic. You reread the texts that are longer than a Harry Potter novel and start formulating the best excuses you can. "Someone stole my phone and sent that." Or, "Oops! Wrong person, sorry!" It's obvious neither would work considering you called them out on that specific fight you had three months ago, and sheer panic takes over. This is irreversible. This is Miley Cyrus twerking at the VMA's; the deed is done and can never be unseen.



After the first recovery text you send out -- you know, the "Wow. I got so drunk last night, I totally blacked out. Don't even remember sending that! Haha..." one -- you let yourself reflect on the night that led up to this fateful mistake. That's when it hits you: who in the hell let you do this? Why didn't anyone take away your phone?! Suddenly, your focus shifts from the 911 emergency inside your cell to the so-called "friends" who let this occur. You're pretty sure the night started off with a toast and the "Oh my god guys, don't let me text them" speech. They had one job! Granted, that's one job amongst ten tequila shots, but who's counting?

There's no coming back from this. At the very least, you'll need to change your number and not be seen anywhere you may run into them for at least three days. You'll probably have to find a new booty call since you blew your chances of that reconciliation, and you'll totally have to downplay the situation to your friends. (You don't want them thinking you're crazy, do you?) It's time to swear that "ugh, you're never drinking again."

Until next weekend, when "you sucked but I miss youuuuu hi!" seems like the perfect way to win them back.

Illustrated by Amir Khan, who is stuck in stage 2.