I didn't go drinking much until I moved to London, but adapting to the culture has meant drinking a lot more than I used to. Which I obviously couldn't handle and have never built a real big tolerance to. But always, I was boastful about the fact that I never got hangovers. However poorly I felt the night of a big outing, I would always get it out of my system in the same night (a euphemism, see blog name), or else just be able to sleep it off. The next day, I would wake up a little dehydrated, sometimes even a little bit tired from not sleeping quite so well, but be able to go about my day unscathed, and perform at my normal level at work. I would laugh and laugh at those who were unable to do so.
However, in the last handful of times where I've had a big night, my age has started to show and Mr. Hangover has become a mild acquaintance. He is no longer a stranger whose face I do not recognise, and when I am alerted to his presence by the accompanying headache and queasiness that inexplicably starts, not as soon as you wake up but creeps up on you at 3pm in the afternoon, I acknowledge that I am not ill in the slightest but being reprimanded for the reckless imbibing of the previous evening.
It is another sign I think that the time is right to move back to Canada where I will be having less benders and being politely asked to leave the pub at 12:20am because it closed 20 minutes ago.
At least you made it to your thirties (oops was I not suppose to indicate your age here?) to meet Mr. Hangover. I knew him since my twenties. I would spend the day after in bed and throw up for 24 hours until I was completely dehydrated before returning to normal.
ReplyDeleteLuckily I don't drink and now I am in my 40s!!
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