My birthday, which you may know is on Thanksgiving this year, started off like most people's day.
I woke bushy-eyed and bright-tailed at the crack of an hour before dawn to my phone ringing. The ex-wife undoubtedly wanted to wish me a happy birthday but forgot that there was this thing called "time-zones". Maybe working for years in the airline industry throwing bags didn't cover time zones. I don't know, I haven't listened to the message.
Being awake, I staggered into the living room like a child sneaking up on Santa, except I'm a 49 year old man in his underwear. The roomy got a different wake up before work this day. So I gingerly wandered back into my bedroom, beginning to feel the reason why I can't remember going to bed. The previous night's imbibery is still there in my tummy and not happy. I feel an overwhelming rush of emotion and head to the sink, but being the type of person who'd rather be cut with a machete than throw up, I fought it back and slumped back into bed.
That lasted an hour until the tummy prodded me awake. Fought. Won. Sleep.
One hour later. Fought. Lost. Slept. Fought. Lost. Dry heaves r fun.
I can't recall ever having a hangover and barfing except for when I drank a whole bottle of tequila. I can count on two hands how many times I've yakked and today almost beat that record. I wonder if I ate something ucky.
Thought I'd share.
