Four years ago today I had the worst hangover of my life, physically and emotionally. After more than a decade of rippin' and runnin', I was toast. It was fun, then it was fun with problems, then it was just problems - if you consider passing out in your parents' living room with your dress hiked up to your waste a problem.
And you're not wearing panties.
Which your mother points out to you the next morning (aka: Thursday) in the photo she took of you… Right before showing you the video she captured of you trying to stumble your way to bed.
(Also you're 30 and still living with your parents.)
And that third bottle of wine you thought you didn't touch? Come to find out you managed to polish that off, too. Pretty impressive, considering you opened it in a blackout, which is nothing but unmitigated skill.
And by "you" I mean me. So that's when I decided it was time to quit.
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