It was a three Advil and two Tylenol kind of morning.
I should have known it would be.
You can’t drink two beers, down three glasses of wine, eat four cake pops, go to bed five hours late, and expect to wake up at six am rearing to go.
At least I can’t.
No, when I woke this morning after a night of food-and-bedtime-debauchery, you could have told me…