I didn't even drink. In fact, I've never once had any alcohol that wasn't in the form of NyQuil or the super tiny bit of mouthwash you accidentally swallow that makes you cough until you cry. Once my bff bought me a bottle of brandy, but that was just because I was worried about early contractions and she said that if I really panicked I could sip it on the way to the hospital (alcohol used to be used to stop early labor, apparently). The brandy is still unopened, locked via child-proof lock, in our medicine cabinet.
But even though I don't drink, I did look at the drink menu at Joe's Crab Shack last night. I was bored and my kids were playing in the play place and Steve was on a work call. They had all sorts of frozen drinks with pretty colors that looked super tasty. I thought to myself, "See, if Margie Mills was here, she could tell me that these don't taste nearly as good as they look and I wouldn't have to feel like sighing at my self-imposed temperance..." Margie Mills is one of my very few non-Mormon friends. And, really, even the least prudish of my Mormon friends are more prudish than the most prudish of my non-Mormon friends. So Margies come in handy in situations like these.
So, anyway. I didn't drink anything.
But this morning? I totally woke up feeling like I had a hangover. My head throbbed, the light hurt, I wanted to throw up, and basically I felt all sorts of self-loathing that didn't seem to have a cause.
That's what a hangover feels like, right?
So: poll time.
Book-A-Day 2018 #199: Hostage by Guy Delisle
19 hours ago