The Morning After

So the morning after having a few too many, I woke up with your average forty-year old hangover. I wanted water, but it made me sick. I felt like I had to vomit, but I pride myself on keeping it down. I was starving and knew if I could just put something on my stomach, I would start to feel better. My daughters (I can say that now, because they are married), decided that it would be awesome to go have Indian food. I’ve never really eaten Indian food. Add to that the fact that I was still pretty hung over and possibly even still a little drunk, and I rode in the back seat to the restaurant, thus causing a mildly severe case of car sickness,  my first time experimenting with this type of food did not go as planned.  I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned having “texture” issues.  There are just certain things I cannot put in my mouth (penises are excluded from this issue). I blame it on my mom and her gouplah recipe which was basically just a fucked up made up name for dump-everything-smooshy-you-have-in-the-fridge-and-cabinets-into-a-pot-and-cook-it-and-voila… force your kids to eat it.

So I’ve always had issues with runny or squishy food. I’ve started to get over it as the years have worn on. I used to not even be able to eat a black bean, or a baked bean. I can do both now.  I’m sure there’s a list of things that I couldn’t eat and now do, but I’ll spare you. My point is, we got to the Indian restaurant, and it was a buffet, and it smelled super good and I wanted to overindulge, but all I could muster to get in my mouth was the tomato soup and the pita-like bread. Maybe it was pita bread. Hell, I don’t know, it was like a tortilla, but not really. I’m sure there is a name for it and I’m sure I’m being culturally insensitive by not knowing it, but it’s cool. I was hungover. I’m not responsible. France is…. because they make the Grey Goose.  Anyhow, I’m at the bar, the food bar, and I’m piling stuff on my plate, but everything is runny. Everything is also vegetarian, which would have been awesome if I could have stomached any of it, but I couldn’t. I tried and every time I put something in my mouth, my stomach wanted to reject it. So I just had to settle on the delicious spiced tomato soup and flat bread.

In the midst of all that,   I got a random text message from someone I gave my number to the previous night in my drunken splendor. I, of course, had to ask for a picture of said guy, because, if I recall correctly, there was more than one person I was offering face licks and phone numbers to. After he sent it, I knew exactly who he was.  He asked me if I wanted to go have a drink later. Why, sure, I can hang with you young bucks.  I, for the most part, got over my hangover and went to meet Ohio J. I took a shot while waiting for him at a little dive bar he recommended. I immediately started feeling better. There is something to be said about hair of the dog. We met up with his friend who was out with him the previous night and the three of us went barhopping until we were finally kicked out of the very last bar because they were closing. Fun was had by all. Friends were made. Babies were named (not mine, theirs) and I woke up the next day without so much as a headache. Maybe I’m not as old as I thought and maybe I can totally hang with the 30’s crowd.

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