Ah weddings. The flowers, the dresses, the toasts, the cake. The waking up in my hotel room, damp, in a t-shirt, in the fetal position, with no recollection as to how I stumbled home, without my husband or why my bathroom looks like something out of a horror movie.
Let me explain...
John and I had a wedding in Chicago this weekend. Weeks of planning went into this night. Looking super cute was crucial because friends I hadn't seen in years were going to be in attendance. Judging. Anyways, as you know, I'm a mom and I don't get out much. Oh, and I barely drink. Like maybe a beer or two, some wine, anything more than that and I've been known to fall asleep on other people's couches, at bars and once even at a concert venue. I'm a real party animal.
Well, since John was a groomsman, I was kind of on my own. Luckily, Lisa's brother in-laws and future sister-in-law kept me company between the ceremony. My choice to order a Three Olives Cherry and Diet Coke, was my first mistake. It went down smooth, too smooth.
At the cocktail hour I was feeling pretty good. When the reception started, I was feeling really good. I danced, and drank and drank and drank. This is when the night starts to get a little dicey. Shots were offered and I distinctly remember saying, "My body rejects shots." And yet I kept taking them.
And taking them. And taking them.
Eventually I ended up feeling like I was walking around with my eyes closed. I literally could not see. I'm sure I looked really hot.
Someone must have thought it was a good idea to get "that girl" as far away from the reception as possible because the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back seat of a cab with Lisa's mother-in-law. Oh yes, I was sharing a cab with the in-laws. My husband was apparently having too much fun to escort his wife home and I was in no state of mind to argue.
Lisa's mother-in-law is the sweetest woman you'll ever meet, but she's a talker. She talked quietly through the ceremony, pointing out various family members on the groom's side, she talked throughout the reception and she talked the entire ride home. I, on the other hand, was grinding my teeth, knowing that if I dared to open my mouth, it wouldn't be words pouring out, but rather...um...other stuff. I feel terrible because I literally did not answer ONE of mom-in-law's questions. I sat, grinding away, taking a few deep breaths and focusing on not hurling all over her.
Fast forward a few hours. I woke up in our hotel room, my hair was wet and crazy-looking, mascara smeared beneath my eyes. I was wearing a t-shirt and not a whole lot else. I probably looked like Taylor Momsen when she woke up the morning after her Sweet 16 party.
It was a little bit like a horror movie. The light in the bathroom was on, but the door was closed. I knew something terrible was behind that door, and I had to see it. So like one of those dumb ass slasher movie chics, I pulled myself up out of the bed with great effort and opened the door. I'll never publicly admit to what waited for me behind that door. It was one of the most horrifying sights I've ever seen. Let's just say I had ended the night with approximately 10 cranberry-vodkas and leave it at that.
So for all of our YA readers (of which I'm 99% sure we have none at this point in time) let this be a lesson to you.
Just. Say. No.
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