I woke up. Again. I don’t think I had slept longer than an hour all night. Could it be those last two Soco-Limes I guzzled, or the fact that I was not in my own bed and subconsciously didn’t want to drool on the (hot) boy’s pillow I was currently sharing? Regardless, light was finally filling the room, which could mean only one thing: this boy was about to wake up, see me and completely regret the last two Soco-Limes he had bought each of us.

I stared around the room, half willing the boy to wake up and prove me wrong – by initiating another round of lovin’ – and half planning my silent escape while he was still passed out.

It never changes. And I don’t think it is much different for anyone. No matter how great the evening was, no matter how hot you looked in that brand new going-out shirt and no matter the fact that he came onto you, we all spend some of the after-glow fearing the worst:

He is not going to remember what happened.
He is going to roll over, see me and freak out.
He is going to vomit from the amount of alcohol it took for him to find me attractive.

And the questions:
What do we talk about?
What did we talk about?
How is this going to go?

In the moment – when we are six drinks deep and a hot guy has his hand on the small of our back, whispering in our ear – there seems to be no better idea than sharing a cab and heading back to his place. We know deep down that the alcohol is making the decision for both of us, but (at least at that moment) who cares? This is all good, clean fun.

It’s when the alcohol wears off and we are lying next to a complete stranger…naked…that reality begins to set in. And reality brings a whole lot of self-doubt.

What I learned on that particular morning (besides the fact that the boy did not regret the night before, as he did it all again in the morning light) is that I am not alone in my fear. He, too, woke up and stared at the ceiling wondering if those shots had put me over the edge. If I would remember who he was. If I had a good time the night before. I couldn’t believe it; it was his house, after all, and he was totally sexy. How could he have any doubts at all?

The morning-after is awkward for all parties involved. From morning breath to the number exchange (do we, or don’t we?) no one is really prepared for it. So throw the self-hating out the window and take comfort in that fact. Approach the morning-after with the same sense of confidence and sexiness you rocked at the bar. Because nothing is sexier than confidence, and no one turns down morning sex (no matter how bad your breath is).