The yin and yang of adulthood violently collided this morning as I flossed with a terrible hangover.
It had been a fantastic evening – at least what I could remember of it. A disconcerting number of fragments were missing like a mirror that had slipped from its mounting and unceremoniously crashed to the floor.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I spat. “Who should I apologize to and why?”
“You were fine,” Skyspook reassured me. “Really drunk. But fine. It was the Jello that did you in.”
And for the rest of the day, despite the harsh reality that I had done this to myself, Skyspook babied me like a sick child sans the (wholly warranted) lecture. I guess some parts of adulthood aren’t that bad.