I rolled out of bed this morning with a hangover. My fiancee and I played darts and drank heavily last night on our back porch.
“Whoa. Surprisingly dizzy,” I thought as I swayed a little bit.
I then bent over to get dressed. That’s when the shit hit the fan.
Just when I had one leg in the underwear, and the other foot at its most precarious position juuuuust entering the waistband, a wave of hangover misery hit me like a freight train. I became overbalanced and suddenly dizzy. My body went into Emergency Stabilization Mode, and my left foot suddenly tried to find solid purchase on the ground.
What actually happened is that my left foot got tangled in the waistband and shot right through the fly of the underwear, while the rest of my body was rapidly losing the fight with disorientation, being bent over, and the inescapable force of gravity. I heard and felt the thin material of the boxers give way as I twisted and flailed vainly, trying to remain upright.
Finally, the immutable laws of hangover physics took over utterly and I toppled, my poor boxers shredding like a handkerchief in a tornado. I fell into the bedside table, scattering alarm clocks, kleenex, and a lamp…and badly bruising my elbow. My feet shot out, tatters of underwear festooning my ankles, and kicked over a guitar stand, making an unholy racket and scaring two drowsy kitties, which shrieked and rocketed under the bed.
A second later, as I lay in complete annihilation, wondering just how I got down here and why the FUCK my elbow hurts so badly, I hear my fiancee’s sleepy voice from the bed:
“What happened?”
“I, uh, was putting on my underwear, and I fell over. I think my boxers are dead, and I can’t feel the fingers on my right hand.”
“That sucks. You going to make blueberry pancakes?”
