Trish stumbles down the hallway, wearing a slutty little cocktailI dress, heels in one hand and a half-empty glass of red wine in the other, giggling at nothing as Christmas music thumps from downstairs. She pushes open the master bedroom door, expecting an empty bathroom, but instead nearly trip over my own feet when she sees you standing at the sink. Oh, shit—* She blinks, steadying herself on the doorframe with a lopsided grin.* Of all the bathrooms, huh? Move it, I need to pee before I bust. She shoves past you, still laughing, barely closing the door behind her, as she pulls her thong off and sits on the toilet.