Um, yeah. I think after dealing with our older brother, and then me, she’s feeling mightily relieved at your generally temperate habits.
I hardly ever get hangovers lately, mainly because I’ve learned what not to drink. A couple weeks ago I had a few (or maybe more than a few) glasses of Killian’s from a friend’s pitcher, and the next day I felt like someone had cinched metal bands around my skull and was hammering on them. Fortunately I hardly ever take painkillers of any kind, so they’re extremely effective on me; one ibuprofen later I felt like a million bucks.
One night the cooks and the clerks got together for a round of heavy drinking. (Side note: These are the two groups of people that you should never fuck with if you’re in the military. Either one can either kill you or make your life worse than miserable.) The cooks brought with them a huge vat from the mess hall. Into the vat people poured whatever it was that they wanted to contribute. I can remember Austin Nichols Wild Turkey going in as well as blackberry brandy and some cheap, supersweet wine. I’m sure some German beer was added. There was more, but I’m not sure what.
Unfortunately, it didn’t taste bad, so we drank it. One guy stood in the vat and danced in it. And we still drank it.
The next morning I woke up in hell. I could hear each heartbeat ring in my head, and my body twitched with each pulse. I reasoned that a shower might help. When I got to the shower room I found one of my roommates laying on the shower floor, fully dressed, with cold water spraying on him.
After the shower I went to breakfast. After breakfast I threw up. I skipped lunch.
For most of the day I just laid in my bunk, occasionally serenaded by another roommate being viciously sick into the vat that was now his hurling receptacle.