My much awaited last day at work was Tuesday and now, Friday, is the first time I can bring myself to do anything of substance.

Tuesday after work, several co-workers and friends meet me out for happy hour to celebrate my “retirement”. Six vodka tonics later, most of my cohorts are ho-humming about needing to get home, bla bla bla, need to get up for work tomorrow, yadda yadda yadda. It’s only somewhere in the vicinity of 9pm at this point and I call them all out for being pansies (although 9pm is normally my bed time) to which I am met with litany of slings in the field of “well, some of us have JOBS” (note to self, find more jobless friends).

One trooper agrees that the night is too young, and joins Husband and me at our humble abode for a celebratory bottle of vino. We open up a bottle I’ve been saving for a special occasion, kick off our shoes, and hunker down on the couch. The next thing I know, it’s 3am and we’ve gone from Special Occasion wine, to Grocery Store wine, to Something I Got for Free Somewhere wine. We’ve also managed to solve all the world’s problems by debating the finer points of:

1. Darwinian Evolution — It’s a well known fact that mostly stupid people are breeding. Therefore, when we’re President of the World, we’re going to make people get a license before they’re allowed to procreate. This license would require, at minimum a high school education or equivalent GED, a minimum of only one tooth loss due to decay, and the ability to have successfully operated at least two forms of birth control at some point in your life (prayer doesn’t count!). With these measures in place, we should be able to avoid a future resembling the first five minutes of the movie Idiocracy.
2. Global Garment Standardization — We’re sick of being different sizes, in different brands, on different days of the week, in different countries. Everyone just needs to get on the same fucking page! As President of the World, we will no longer feel like a cow because the size X suddenly doesn’t fit. Yes, we’re smart, worldly women, and we know that sizes are going to be different depending on what store or brand you’re trying on. But it doesn’t matter. There will always be that primal cave women instinct buried deep in our medulla oblongata that’s going, “Damn it! A saber tooth dress isn’t normally this snug. I bet the entire tribe can see my cottage cheese butt cheeks through it now. I really need to lay off the mammoth milk for while. I wonder if Fred noticed and just didn’t say anything. What a jerk. This is all his fault! ‘FRED! Get your hairy ass in here! DO I LOOK FAT?!’ “

By bottle number three, this President of the World thing is sounding pretty good. We also decree that Kettle Corn goes great with cheap Chardonnay, my dog is the smartest, cutest, squishiest dog on the planet, and Husband needs to open up another bottle of grape juice.

Husband can see the writing on the wall, and if our excessive drinking and plans for world domination go any further, he’s never going to get any sleep. Somehow he uses his magical sober-person powers to persuade Friend to go home and me to go to bed.

And I will forever blame him for this.

If he hadn’t made me go to bed, the room would have never started spinning, the toilet bowl would have never been filled with before mentioned wine and pop corn, and 7am dog barking would have never felt like a Guantanamo Bay torture technique.

I did not feel human again until 12 hours later. And I did not feel 100% until 48 hours later. It undoubtedly qualified as one of my top three hangovers of all time. Basically, I felt like Death took a shit on me. And who knew such a scrawny creature could produce something so potent?!

Good thing I didn’t have to go to work the next day! hehehe