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Mike Reynolds groaned as the first rays of sunlight shone through his bedroom window and danced across his face. The drumline that was performing in his head kept a steady beat as his world came into focus. When his eyes had cleared enough, he looked up at his alarm clock and noted the time: 11:30 AM.

“SHIT! I missed work today!” he bellowed as he rolled out of bed and immediately fell to the floor.

The thirty-year old cursed at himself as he attempted to rise to his feet and failed miserably. On his second try, he was able to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t let him move.

“DAMMIT! Why the Hell did I drink so much last night?” he asked himself as he wobbled his way to the bathroom.

As he staggered through the hallway, he caught a whiff of the familiar scent of bacon frying in a pan. This didn’t strike him as odd until he stepped up to the toilet and started relieving himself.

“Who the fuck is cooking?” he asked, turning towards the door as if the cook was right next to him. The sound of urine hitting the wall and floor refocused him.

After cursing himself for making a mess, and then cursing some more while he cleaned it up, Mike went back to his room to throw on a pair of jeans so he could greet the mystery chef in his kitchen.

“HEY! Who the Hell is in my God-damned kitchen? And why the Hell did you let me sleep in and miss work?” he shouted.

He was greeted by the sight of a curly-haired blonde woman wearing a pink pajama bottom and one of his old t-shirts working his stove with the efficiency of a line chef at a fancy restaurant. While her bacon was frying, she was preparing scrambled eggs in one hand and popping bread into Mike’s toaster with the other. Mike took a few seconds to acknowledge how good this woman looked from behind.

“I’m in your God-damned kitchen and today is Saturday, so you don’t have work to miss, Genius!” laughed the mystery woman as she kept cooking. “Now, make yourself useful and set the table for two, Mikey!”

At the word “Mikey,” he realized that his mystery guest was none other than his oldest friend, Stephanie Taylor. She was the only one he let call him "Mikey". He had been best friends with Stephanie since the day they were born. Well, since the day he was born. Stephanie was exactly one day older than Mike, and the pair had been inseparable since. From the moment they both got home from the hospital to the day Stephanie took a teaching job in New York City, the two were hardly seen apart.

“Stephanie? When the Hell did you get back into town?” Mike scratched his still-foggy head.

“About two months ago, Slick. Am I that forgettable?” she laughed.

“Huh?” Mike shook his head in disbelief.

“WOW! You really did have too much to drink last night! I didn't think that was possible!” Stephanie paused and tossed her host a bottle of Aspirin.

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