I’ve never been able to deal with hangovers in any reasonable way. They leave me half dead, with pizza.
And I realized after this Thursdays spontaneous bar-hopping seance with the Mister, that things are getting worse. I was left the entire Friday curled up in the fetal position without the ability to do much else than groan. And as the day progressed it just got worse. My hangover state is basically the same as a 46 year old woman who’s three sheets to the wind in gin, with bouts of teary eyed ennui.
On the other hand, the night out did allow me to eat the best toastie I’ve had here in New Zealand. Wouldn’t think that a bar called Mighty Mighty would have been the place to find it. But there you go.