How to Hangover: A Practical Guide for 38-Year-Olds

This past weekend was my cuzzy's birthday and we had lots of fun, of the get-a-sitter-and-drink-and-eat-lots-of-things variety.  The fact that it took me, I am not kidding, two full days to recover from one fun night got me thinking about the difference between being twenty eight and being thirty eight. Here we have my ruminations on that topic.

How a Hangover Goes When You’re 28 and You Haven’t a Care in the World:

1.  Leave bar.  Notice that you maybe drank too much.  Stop at a drive-through for a weird 2am burrito because burritos soak up alcohol.

2.  Gulp a glass of water with three Advil so you won’t have a headache when you wake up.

3.  Sleep until about 11:30 the next morning.  You awaken with a funny feeling in your head and gut, so you go for brunch with your friends.  A melty omelet and a pile of fried potatoes will fix you right up.

4.  Carry on with your day as though nothing ever happened because you are young and vital and no amount of ill-advised tequila will stand in your way.

How a Hangover Goes When You’re 38 and You Have Produced Children:

1.  Stop at the drive-through on the way home from the bar to get weird 2am burrito because you remember that this type of thing helped you when you were 28.  Scarf burrito, then immediately regret it because OHMAHGOD IT BURNS WHY DOES IT BURN SO BAD.

2.  Arrive at home with fire-burrito-boulder in your belly.  Have a brief conversation with the babysitter in which you try to look as sober as possible and she plays along because ha ha look at the drunk old people.  

3.  Check on children, put on your jammies, and perform your entire face-washing routine complete with the application of 3-4 anti-wrinkle potions.  You are an adult and skincare is important.  Marvel at how amaaaaazing your skin looks when you’ve had four gin and sodas and, god help you, a shot of Fireball.

4.  Gulp a glass of water with three Advil because you are very clever and there is no reason that 28-Year-Old Things shouldn’t work on a 38-year-old.  Fall asleep with a prayer on your lips that your children will miraculously sleep super late in the morning and will get their own breakfasts and also make no sounds before 10:00am.

5.  Wake up at 4:03am to a child sleeping on your face.  Notice that a brain-melting headache has taken residence in your skull.  Drift back to sleep anyway because if there’s anything you’ve learned by having children, it’s that you can sleep anywhere and through anything.  You’re a grownup, dammit.

6.  Awaken with the first child at 6:27am. Get in a whisperfight with spouse over who will rise with that child; lose fight, roll out of bed while shooting murder lasers at spouse with your eyes. 

7.  Take stock of your physical situation:  you’re nauseated (You might barf.  Pretty sure you’re gonna barf,) the brain-melting headache is still there, and, inexplicably, your whole self is bloated.  Like, you are so puffy that you can see your own face without looking in a mirror.

8.  Try to think of something you could eat that is not revolting.  Give up and feebly sip orange juice until your kid is done with his breakfast.  Eat 1/8 of a pancake and the squishy part of the banana.  Gag.

9.  Spend the rest of the day following your children around, hoping that they’ll fall asleep.  Periodically lock eyes with your spouse with a look that says, “WHY.  WHY DID WE DRINK SO MUCH.  WE ARE VERY STUPID.”  Put the kids to bed at like 6:45.  Tell them that it is 8:30.  It’s fine.  They can’t tell time and sleep is very good for children. 

10.  Wake up the next day.  Notice that you are still nauseated and that the whole see-your-face-without-a-mirror situation is still going on.  Decide that what you need is exercise.  Yes!  You will go to the gym!  You will flush out the toxins!  Fitness will save you!

11.  Get about 7 lunges into your Group Exercise Lungey Class and realize that this will not go well.  Make Baby Chocolate Lab faces at the instructor in hopes that she will take pity on you and tell you to go take a nap.  She does not do this.  You hate her.

12.  Finally.  Finally after two days and three naps and a lungey class and 14 refills of your water bottle and those deep breathing exercises you learned in yoga and copious amounts of bad-word-saying, you feel better.  The hangover has released its grip on your soul and you can once again function properly in your grownup adult life. 

13.  Think about swearing off that one dive bar forever and ever but quickly decide against it because, let’s face it, that dive bar is fun.  It has karaoke and a bartender with a completely unironic Joe Dirt mullet and it smells exactly like a dive bar ought to.  But you will do this one thing, because you are 38 and not 28: when Joe Dirt Mullet Man offers you a FREE WELL DRINK token because he saw you drinking a gin and soda, you will politely decline.  You will ask him for the Tanqueray (or whatever the good gin is, you don’t really know) because you are a grownup and that’s what grownups do.