When I was in my early 20’s I had a high tolerance for alcohol. Shots of Jagermeister, sure! Followed by another Miller Lite, Hell Yeah! Let’s go out for Martini’s, yes please. Sure, bartender we want another tray of dollar beers. And the next morning I would pound some water, maybe pop an Ibuprofen and go about my day. Hangovers, those were for amateurs.
Enter my 30’s and somewhere along the line that tolerance vanished. Maybe it never returned after the 9 months of sobriety also known as pregnancy, maybe it flew away after my 30th birthday celebrations, maybe my tolerance is lying on the beach in Key West waiting for some young 20 something to come along. Wherever it went, it’s gone and hangovers in my 30’s are, oh, so different from the glory days of my 20’s.
They happen more easily. Like, it’s Saturday night and you are having dinner with friends and that second glass of wine was just so good that you pour a third. Sunday morning you wake up nauseated with a pounding headache. Since when do three glasses of wine phase you, since you turned 30, that’s when.
You are awoken from you wine induced slumber to the sounds of your child yelling “Mommy! Mommy! I pooped, can you wipe my butt”. So while you are begging the world to stop spinning, you now also have to deal with someone elses shit.