Accidentally getting mashed

It's a Midday, on a Tuesday.

I imagine a large portion of the population are currently at work or school, even those that aren't are almost certainly doing something productive after getting up before 12pm.
I however, am watching Made in Chelsea in bed with breath like a dead tree frog, a hangover the size of Harry Style's ego and a best friend next to me who's dead to the world.

My situation is, shockingly, not an uncommon one to find myself in- getting accidentally mashed and spending the next day in a state of semi-comatose whilst crying about everything from a touching Disney film to my Dad making me a cup of tea due to an extreme case of emotional imbalance- is a regular occurrence in my life. However last night (and subsequently this morning) are products of a phenomenon which has danced into my existence like Anna and Vronsky since I turned 18- getting accidentally mashed.
  I'm not going to pretend that I never had a drink before I was legal, that would be a despicable lie of Profumo Affair proportions. Even saying I had 'had a drink' before I was legal would be dishonesty on the Tony Blair scale. 'Had a drink' implies a glass of champagne at a family wedding or a few cans a friend's parent bought us to drink on their birthday. In actual fact before I was legal getting completely blotto was a regular activity. Vodka, Lambrini, Strongbow at every party, on the park, birthday or not. But my realization this morning, epiphany if you will, is that all those things were planned. I knew when I was going to be drinking- the alcohol had to be bought in advance by somone's older sibling or a trek had to be made to a shady shop in a far off corner of town where they don't 'ID'. Now I'm a grown up every off license, pub and club is my personal playground! 
  Last night my bestie came to see me, so obviously I bought a bottle for us to share as a friendly gesture. I would point out I cooked for her as well so the evening was meant to be sophisticated. After eating some pasta bake we promptly drank the 2 litre bottle of Lamrbini I'd bought (in half an hour) and decided to go to the pub. I didn't get too dressed up thinking it would just be one pint at the local. A collective 4 pints, 2 double G&Ts and 8 shooters of apple sourz later and after the social mortification of the barman assuming I wasn't buying a round because I'm unemployed we stumbled back to Chez Gallagher. Bought chips on the way home, cracked open a bottle of wine and essentially chatted shit until 3 30am. 
  This wasn't planned. In fact it stealthed up on me, which is why when I woke up with a dry mouth, aching limbs and a head with an extremely untalented Dubstep DJ trapped inside it (all of which can only mean one thing) I didn't understand how it had happened.

  I give you accidentally getting mashed- unexpectedly ruining my mornings since 28/04/12.