Early this morning, once again, after a night of hanging out at TQ2, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. and ejected. This is getting really annoying (fifth time this year), because I don't deserve it (in the "I didn't drink nearly enough to deserve it" kind of way).
I think it is my stomach more than any excess of alcohol. (The chicken swarma and a bowl-full of Bob's chili probably factored in more than anything.) After my visit to the bathroom, I took two ibuprofen and went back to bed, and woke up at 9:00 feeling perfectly fine.
So probably what I am finding out is that as I approach my late 30s, I can no longer fill my stomach with some vile combination of food, drink, and alcohol, and not expect to be punished. It's kind of a letdown, as this means that my days of washing down 2 Big Macs with a tall glass of peach schnapps are behind me.
2 comments:
You may also be lucky , in that it is your body telling you 'No Good Anymore Pom Puui'
Heh. I don't need something as drastic as that to tell me that I'm slowly going over the hill to Fatslobland, as I get twenty little (and just as telling) reminders each day: Buttons popping off my pants is more than enough demonstration for me.
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