A night's hobble

Possibly not the wildest wilds, just outside pretty Bramley village and up a no-through road, where the trees seem thick and the houses are posh. The evening flew past, despite us being under the weather; it's a miracle what wine can achieve. That night I woke, colossally drunk and in need of the loo, then spent frantic minutes trying to find the door handle in the dark. It seemed really high up, and occasionally on the wrong side of the door... Or maybe that's because I was crouching with my legs crossed. It also occurred to me that chili might have been an unfortunate accompaniment to all that alcohol. This made getting out of the bedroom much more imperative, as I envisioned the impact on, not only my friendships but my marriage,  if I was discovered in the morning still haplessly scrabbling  at the door while surrounded by egesta. Fortunately the horror  - or possibly just blind luck after what seemed like hours of panic -  found me the handle, and I was free.   But it was a close run thing.