I don’t usually do more than one blog post a week. Mostly because if I write more than 100 words at a sitting, I’m suddenly stricken by the vapors and must then take to my bed with a hot water bottle, a lavender compress and a Bettye LaVette CD until it passes. What can I say? I’m very delicate.
Today, however, I’m making an exception. You see, after my rather pathetic hang-over announcement a few days ago, I received quite an outpouring of care and concern via e-mails like, “Toughen up, lightweight”, “How’s the stomach, Nancy?” and, from Cheryl in Atlanta, “Feelin’ better, Princess?”
It was incredibly touching.
That’s why I want everyone to know that I didn’t, in fact, go into the light on Monday. Yes, there was one point, while sprawled on my closet floor, desperately trying not to dry heave into my husband’s hurraches, when I did consider just giving up and letting go, but then I reached deep down and decided to fight. After all, I had too much to live for, too many things yet to accomplish, two kids to raise. Plus, there was a big shoe sale coming up at Nordstrom and it’s not like I was going to miss that, hello.
Anyway, I thank you for all of the tips on hang-over preventions and cures. I hope I won’t have to use any of them any time soon, but you never know. I hear there’s a mom with a minivan rarin’ to go O.U.T. and I don’t want to miss out on that action. Besides, how fun would it be to go on a pub crawl in a Honda Odyssey?
One more thing: I usually never recommend movies because my taste runs a little different from most people’s. (“What do you mean you liked, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days? More like How to Lose Your Will To Live In 10 Minutes. I mean, come on, it wasn’t exactly Tracy/Hepburn, was it? Especially when that chucklehead McConaughey tried to…wait, where are you going?”) But if you get a chance, go see Young@Heart, an amazing documentary about a choir of senior citizens who sing songs like “I Wanna Be Sedated”. It’s heartwarming, it’s funny and it even made Shorty-cake cry harder than that time Bruce Springsteen touched her arm in Boston. Trust me on this.
OK, now where’s my lavender compress? I think I’m getting woozy.