I hit the town on Friday night with my best friend and, as I sit here watching Friends on Sunday afternoon, wrapped up in a duvet, still drinking copious amounts of Ribena, I’ve decided that I’m never drinking again.
You heard right. Never. Drinking. Again. Ever.
You see, I’ve almost almost recovered from The Hangover From Hell but it was touch and go for a moment. I thought I’d either die from drinking too much squash, or the pain behind my right eye was going to turn me blind and/or my head was going to implode. (Do heads implode or explode?)
I got to bed around 2.30am on Saturday morning, a positive lightweight to some, but for me, it felt like I’d been partying for a whole week. My eldest needed a lift to work the next day and, as I set my alarm for 7.30am, I wondered whether I should just give him a tenner and he could cab it to his McJob. But my prospects for winning Mum of the Year are already slim to none so I figured I’d keep my word and take him.
And for the next three hours, I did pretty well. Took him to work, had breakfast with Dexter while we were there (rude not to,) hell, I even did my grocery shopping while we were out. I was home by 10am, wrote a blog post but by 11am I was seriously flagging.
That’s when The Hangover From Hell really kicked in.
You know Julia Roberts’ vein in her forehead? The one that pulses when she cries like it’s an entity in itself? Yeah, I had one of those, except it was full of pain, not emotion. Not a good look.
I needed to implement a plan to stop this hangover from taking me down completely. Phase 1 had already been completed (my McBreakfast,) but that alone wouldn’t be enough.
The rest of my plan basically consisted of a special food/drink/rest regime that would kick this hangover’s arse well and truly.
A bacon sandwich, on uncut white bread, with a pint of summer fruits squash.
Fairly successful, the carbs alone rocked my world, but combining it with a salty bacon and ketchup combo was, in my opinion, genius.
I went to bed at 2.30pm, set my alarm for 3.40pm in case I had to pick my son up from work, and slept HARD. In fact, I didn’t need my alarm as Dexter woke me up shouting, “Can we make the cake yet? Can we make the cake yet?” Needless to say, I got up, but Dexter made the cake himself. What? I’m teaching him to be independent!
We rarely have takeaways (too expensive,) but drastic situations call for drastic measures and at 5pm, the thought of actually getting off the sofa and cooking real food was too exhausting. Forty minutes later, POW! … Chinese food delivered straight to my door. I went for the following combo: prawn toasts, Kung Po chicken, egg fried rice, beef in black bean sauce – covered most food groups right there.
Another 5 pints of squash to wash it all down.
X Factor in bed with a slab of Milkybar.
En route to putting Dexter to bed, I accidentally fell into my bed, under my quilt and we didn’t quite make it to his bedroom. We snuggled up together and watched TV – the ‘highlight’ being having to explain to Dexter what being ‘gay’ was as a boy at Dexter’s school keeps saying ‘Rylan is gay, Rylan is gay.’ Just what I needed. (He didn’t bat an eyelid mind you when I told him.)
SATC then sleep.
Dexter now tucked up in bed, I watched some Sex in the City, as I do most evenings, and finally went to sleep.
And now here I am, Sunday afternoon, finally feeling human again.
And was it all worth it? Absobloodylutely.