So This Is What A Hangover Feels Like

"Are you drunk?"
"Just a little, boogie boogie."

The last time I got drunk was back in 1997 at my ten-year high school reunion. Too much red wine on an empty stomach. I acted belligerent and threw up on the side of the road.

So not hot.

The next morning, during fun lectures from Husband and Becky about the importance of using kind words, I decided that tipsy was acceptable every once in a while. Tipsy was fine.

Drunk was not.

Ten years go by - which brings me to last night.

Oh. The. Horror.

Husband's holiday party.

I mingled. I charmed. I laughed.

I spotted the tequila.

And then Becky's husband took out the good sh*t.


I'm only human. How many times am I supposed to pass by such a tasty treat, lemons, salt, and shot glasses? Well. Seven or eight times I definitely *didn't* pass them by.

Seven. Or eight. Times.

Good news is that ten years of "knowing when to say when" has softened the nastiness that too much drinky used to bring out in me. I didn't throw a single shot glass or kick anyone in the shin. I didn't insult Becky's old boyfriends. I don't think I grabbed anyone's ass.

I did, however, discuss how, as a young woman, I made my future husband wait five long years to *get with this*. Surely his colleagues enjoyed *that* conversation.

Oh, and I opened my car door as Horrified Husband drove down the Interstate because I "needed some air."

Fell down in my closet trying to get out of my clothes. Must've looked charming.

What am I forgetting?

Apparently, I threw up on the side of the road.

Still not hot.

But I'm sure that's because I ate something undercooked. Had nothing to do with the seven or eight shots of incredibly smooth and tasty tequila. Tequila I never want to look at again no matter how long I live.