My girlfriends and I love this Tom Pappa skit where he talks about how fun it is to get drunk with your girlfriend, unless your girlfriend is more drunk than you. After that point it is no longer fun.
Case in point: Friday 4th, July 2008. We are at one of D's friend's houses. We have a lovely time. I drink way too much (classy, I know, but unfortunately true). Apparently I hold it together really well at D's friend's, but as I got on the phone with my long-lost wife* I started to lose it a bit. D didn't realize just how bad off I was until we started down the stairs to the cab. I slid down numerous steps in my 4" heels, all the while still babbling with wifey. We got home and I totally lost it. Literally. Bathroom floor, flailing, crying, general mayhem.
D got me off the floor and into bed where I passed out until 10:30 Saturday morning. I felt wretched. My stomach was churning, my head would not stop throbbing, my whole body was punishing me for the excess of alcohol the night before. D gamely drove me home after helping me to shower, dress, generally function at 25% capacity. He then called me later in the day to find out how I was.
My boyfriend, my hero.
*B is my "wife" (read: best friend and then some) and recently moved to FL from Philly
**Update**
I just had lunch with D and he informed me that I was quite funny while flailing about on the bathroom floor. This gem he had to share with me: "I'm Irish! I should have a different nose!"
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