The Christmas Hangover

The Christmas Hangover

Ahhhh, for those of you who left your homes neat and tidy last night, maybe even exercised and had a shower, carved out some time for a few thank you notes- I am not your people, so keep stirring the wassail.

For those of you who feel like you’ve been hit by a semi, while drunk, on a desolate highway, and then came to, realizing a band of naughty elves had ransacked your house (also drunk), and you wonder at what point your life became a total shit show? Well, you are home.

Let’s go over the main points, shall we?

My living room is home to a bounce house that stayed inflated all night and between that and the fact that my husband wants to live in a sauna, I wonder about our electric bill.

We are going on a trip tomorrow and I haven’t packed. I’ve kicked my family out and rather than pack, I’m watching Downton Abbey, testing the theory that “things have a way of working out.”

The kitchen resembles some sort of Pompeii scene minus the ash and lava. Forks jabbed in leftover macaroni and cheese, gnawed celery floating in crystal glasses half filled with watery bloody Mary’s.

Why did I drink three bloody Mary’s? My husband pointed out that I had the first one before 9am and my stomach is proof of that, not to mention, the Moravian sugar cake that I wolfed down when under the influence.

Battery installation should be a career choice. If I were creative, I would add a feature to Amazon called “we will do the f ing batteries.” Five bucks.

Speaking of Amazon, is anyone else worried that it may take over the world? We will be left with nothing, like Will Smith hiding, dependent on the big A for movies, food, toys, and paper products.

I have consumed 90,000 calories this week and because I have no idea how many I am supposed to consume, I sit now, drinking my 2nd cup of coffee. My first cup was perfect until I mistook a carton of egg whites for cream.

My husband got me an Apple Watch and it keeps telling me that it’s time to stand up. I have told it to my it’s own business and quit trying to rule my life. I’m exhausted, I mean, all this thinking about packing and cleaning the kitchen.

Happy Christmas Hangover, mofos.

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