Work
Sometimes, on a random weekday night, a single pint of beer turns in to six. And a bottle of wine turns in to three. And your beach-body diet turns in to carne asada fries.
… And the left over fried rice in the refrigerator.
… And the donut sitting on the counter.
Before you finally call it a night.
Then your alarm wakes you out of your slumber at a ghastly hour. You have an upset stomach and an even more incensed headache that demands you either take an Advil or a bullet to put you out of your misery. But that’s not the worst of it – it’s only 6 AM and you’ve still got a one hour, traffic packed commute to the office, 8-9 hours of glorious labor, and a one hour, traffic packed commute back home ahead of you before you can crawl back in to your bed and swear off alcohol for the rest of your life.
Family Reunion
You love your family to death, but waking up early for brunch and having to force a pleasant smile for a few hours is no easy feat with a lingering hangover. Another issue you face is that there is usually amazing food cooked up… and your stomach isn’t having any of it. It’s like
Oh, what’s up man? You think it was cool drowning me in alcohol last night? Yeah? You have a lot of fun? You enjoy inhaling that huge order of carne asada fries when you weren’t even remotely hungry? How about the left over fried rice? The donut? Well, guess what? Payback’s a bitch! I dare you to think about eating.
*Look over at the counter and see display of scrambled eggs, succulent ham, and fried bacon. Gagging ensues*
That’s right, asshole.
Airplane
Tight spaces. Narrow walk ways. Uncomfortable seats. Occasional turbulence. Long line for the telephone booth-like cell they call a restroom.
The perfect storm…
Yeah, we get it. It was your last night in paradise and you wanted it to end with a bang – and end with a bang it did. It was a fun night… Hazy… But fun nonetheless. However, the binge drinking took its toll on you in the morning when you had to catch your AM flight. Nearly everything about a plane ride is painful and distressing – checking in bags, security clearance, the plane ride itself – add a feeling that is equivalent to a knife stabbing you in the brain and you’re just asking for a looong trip back home.
Imagine as the confined nature of the plane traps all of the scents around you: the strong perfume, open bag of salt and vinegar chips, or glass of wine that is a few seats away. None of it helps the cause. Every seat is prepared with a vomit bag should it come down to it, but you don’t want to be that guy. Just go in fetal position, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray to the Heavens that you promise you’ll donate to the poor/never lie again/be a better human being if the pain goes away.
