Peyton found it difficult to open her front door. She was holding a big messenger bag and a bag of Thai food in her other hand when the overstuffed garment bag with the absurdly huge Cinderella outfit got stuck between her and the door jamb. Her front door key and her phone, which had been vibrating frantically, were in her other hand. With a burst of kinetic force, she rocketed through the little gap like a bullet fired from a spitball pipe and managed to burst inside the room.

The keys, phone, and clothes bag all went flying, but she was able to save herself and her Thai meal from falling to the ground. If the messenger bag hadn't been fastened across her body, it would have done the same.

"Shit! She shouted, not specifically to anyone.

Anyhow, no one was around to hear her scream. She was a single woman. In theory. Although he didn't pay rent for the privilege, her fiancé spent most nights at her apartment, but he hadn't been there in a few weeks. Because he was a hot salesperson and had won a lavish reward, he had been living it up in Vegas on the company's pay. He hadn't offered to take her with him, which had raised a lot of questions about their relationship and her impending wedding.

She dropped the messenger bag from her shoulder and headed for the kitchen, determined to locate the big red wine cup she saved for special occasions and fill it to overflow with whatever alcoholic beverage she could find in the refrigerator. And she was fully ready to combine anything and everything till that sucker was filled if she didn't have enough of any one kind to fill the glass. Sadly, she was so focused on getting where she was going that she neglected to look where she was putting her feet, and as a result, she wound herself tangled up in the clothing bag. She stumbled horribly and was unable to help herself since her hands were full of Thai cuisine. She struck the hardwood floor with more force on her knees than she should have, landing first on her chest, then her chin, nose, and forehead. She was unable to stop it, and everything happened in slow motion. Her Thai food bag exploded! And in that plastic bag, which now resembled something you would throw in the trash without giving it any thought, she suspected that her green curry had been perfectly blended with her chicken pad Thai and coconut rice.

She said "Fuck" once again, more of a cry this time.

She learned that Mrs. Feeney was not pleased with the volume of noise she was producing when there was a hammering on the floor-the ceiling of the flat under hers. For all Peyton cared about, Mrs. Feeney could fuck herself. It had been an awful day. Her prize for not killing anyone, and for making it through another birthday celebration where she almost passed out, had been the Thai cuisine. Once more.

Mrs. Feeney may want to keep her fucking wooden broom handle to herself now that the Thai food was gushing all over her floor, or Peyton might have to go down there and find a better use for it.

There was still booze, at least.

Peyton stood up gradually. She groaned and straightened her legs, complaining that her knees hurt. When he was halfway across the world and not here taking care of her, what good was it to have a fucking fiancé? Her workload had increased due to her boss's pregnancy, on top of her already heavy workload from working two jobs. In addition, she was to be the one handling all of the wedding arrangements as her fiancé was set to tie the knot in less than a month.

Peyton inhaled deeply for a time. She closed her eyes, tilted her head toward the ceiling, and attempted to regain her Zen. Her life seemed to be falling apart around her, and the more she struggled to hang on to things, the faster they appeared to crumble into dust in her hands.

Peyton, experiencing a moment of peace, picked up the leaky bag of Thai food and disposed of it in the sink. After taking the glass out of the freezer, she opened the refrigerator to look through the pitifully empty shelves for anything strong enough to make her forget the embarrassing day. On the kitchen counter, three open wine bottles appeared, and she mixed the cab sauv and sauv blanc before adding sparkling rosé to the glass. She raised the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and sipped deeply.

The song "Sitting on the Beach Drinking Rocket Fuel...oh Yeah" by Cold Chisel played in her head. That's right-she was at "Cheap Wine" tonight.

After placing the glass down, she turned to face the overhead cabinet, took out a bowl, and proceeded toward the sink. Taking a spoon along the way, she ceremoniously spooned some of the pre-made Thai food into the bowl, avoiding the shattered plastic container pieces as she went. What the heck, it was all going to get muddled up in her stomach anyhow. Reaching the couch seven steps from the kitchen, she picked up her glass and gave her messenger bag and clothes a wide berth. It was one thing to spill her Thai cuisine, but it was quite another to spill the one bottle of wine she had left in the home.

With a single button press, the screen sprang to life, and Peyton curled up to watch Geordie Shore, the only person she knew who had a worse life than her own.

Her life wasn't that bad, to be honest. Most of the time, she liked her job and even loved it. She was engaged to be married, had a respectable living, and lived in a pleasant but compact apartment in Melbourne's downtown. Her sister had recently married a Billionaire aviation magnate in a ceremony so stunning it brought tears to her eyes, and her boss had recently tied the knot with a man she had always had a thing for, but that didn't mean her life was falling apart. Even if it wasn't a good day, she didn't have a miserable life.

A loud banging sound awakened Peyton. pounding on the floor and on her door.

"Everything is fine already! She shouted, getting to her feet and swaying a little.