Anyone who has ever known me, even for a minute, knows on a totally sissy-footed lightweight. Lately, I’ve been doing well drinking with some people I think as, well, able to handle their liquor.
I went out last night with a friend. While I’m sure he was not sotally tober upon my arrival, we had a couple beers at a bar.
We were eating food, because I just like food more than liquor. I was outpacing him.
Today I got the text, “Man, I must’ve been roofied last night because I can’t remember a thing!”
I just told him, “Getting old will do that.”
I mean, a couple people know that for about a week, I’ve been drinking a bit more. It’s not much, but my booze-ridden D Days tolerance comescomes back with 5 consecutive nights of relaxation, apparently.
Really, I’m fairly sure I’m just good at drinking. I have food. I’m terrible at pacing myself, but that doesn’t matter. I know when to stop.
So tonight I was drinking some quality Charles Shaw with a friend. Unfortunately, my friend got too sleepy to make it to the wings that were delivered (side note, Pizza Hut has nearly-adequate wings).
As a result, my friend will have a hangover, and I’m just here feasting on wings and wine.
And yes, I’ll probably go to SA to get my friend a Powerade. I’m kick as like that and take care of my friends.