I Picked a Hangover For a Bad Day

I was hungover, again.  I went to a comedy club with Natalie, Michelle, and sweet little Elf.  We weren’t carded, and I ordered a Pete’s Wicked Strawberry Blonde.  The waiter seemed particularly excited by the order.  “Oh.  We call that beer the ‘trophy wife’.

I guess because it tasted sweet and had a picture of a chick with come-hither eyes?

With each passing wife, the joke got funnier and funnier.  By the end of the evening, I was practically a polygamist.

I looked at The Congressman’s calendar for a free lunch.  There was a breast cancer awareness reception that had already started when I arrived.  They were broadcasting a “live” mastectomy.  I made it to the bathroom just in time.

I felt terrible.  My tummy tuck underwear was making my stomach hurt worse, so I threw them away.  I couldn’t go back to the office commando.  It just wasn’t going to happen.  So I left.  Left my coat.  Left without telling Archie.  Just left.

I didn’t think I would make it home.  I prayed, “Oh god, please.  I can’t poop my pants.  I’m wearing a skirt and no undies.  If I sh*t on the Metro I’ll probably be arrested.”

Somehow, I made it into the building and onto the elevator floor.  The elevator ride was all of twenty seconds, but I had to lie down.  I used what remaining strength to get into the apartment.

When I woke up from my nap, I was famished.  There wasn’t much in the kitchen except for sweet little Elf’s food in the fridge.  It’s bad juju to steal food from an elf, so I kept looking until I found an old box of pasta.

I balanced my meal as I walked to the couch to watch Titanic on VHS.  Before I could, I dropped the bowl.  My pasta was all over the rug.  It disseminated perfectly so that every last bite was touching communal shag funk.

I learned some important life lessons that day.  1: That having more than one ‘trophy wife’ will result in bad karma.   2: Stolen elf food magically cures a hangover.  3: Crashing free lunches may not always be the ‘breast’ idea.

 

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