Today’s topic is my overwhelming and well-deserved hangover.
Ohhhhhhhhhh. The long-suffering William Throckmorton the Third's band is playing, let’s go to Mayslack's, says I. Let's get a great big table, says I.
Let’s have another beer, says I.
And now, judging by the pain, I seem to be missing bits of my skull and/or actual brain; not because I’ve found anything untoward lying about the house but because, clearly, I am not the woman today that I was yesterday.
Today’s Pearl is 45% slower witted, 75% more mascara-caked, and 100% sure she won’t be having another beer for quite some time.
Numbers are estimated and not to be used for gambling purposes.
On the plus side, an evening of laughter, absolutely true stories and a successful avoidance of cigarettes (that's 29 days and counting, for those of you keeping score) with the people of Northeast Minneapolis is something worth paying for, even if it may have been with brain cells…
Hmm. I may want to rethink that.
But definitely not right now.
If anyone needs me, I shall be lying in the dark, trying to remember why I felt I had to have that last beer.
About Christopher Robin
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