Hangovers…at 38-years-old.

[divider style=”shadow”]
At nearly 40, I feel more famously flawed than ever…but fortunate.

When you wake-up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, fully-clothed, face-down on a hard wood floor…at 22-years-old, it comes with the territory. The throbbing headache, dehydration and nausea are signs of accomplishment – an unwelcome, but telling “badge” of a good time had the night before. Not that you can remember it.

When this happens to you at 38-years-old…it’s just pathetic. Saturdays are for getting stuff done, not chewing ibuprofen, nursing Gatorade and sleeping off a hangover. When you finally wake-up, it’s beyond humbling because a) you should know better, b) you should know better, and c) by now, you should know better.

But you know what? Here’s where I’m fortunate…and perhaps, where I do in fact know better…

Though humiliating and debilitating, the 38-year-old hangover happens under much more responsible circumstances.

For example, that was MY OWN hardwood floor on which I happened to wake.

Those were indeed MY CLOTHES I was wearing…and not my wife’s – thank goodness.

Plus, I can remember every beverage from the night before; and can confidently impart that it was NOT a six of Natty Light, followed by Boone’s Farm and then shot time!

How’s this for fortunate – it wasn’t cheap beer that did me in at all – it was homebrew! I tapped the keg for the first time Friday night, and for some reason thought I could drink a heavy homemade Weizenboch like I’d been drinking domestics. Well, you can’t…and I had the pounding head to prove it.

Near 40, I’m fully aware flawlessness is NOT in my future and NOT my forte – in fact I can see it getting worse with age; but at least I can say that I’m fortunate…

Fortunate to have learned how to responsibly and safely fail AT HOME – minimizing the pain and suffering to myself, and my pride…

Fortunate to have a loving wife, who by now has to be shaking her head at even THINKING it was a good idea to buy me that first beer kit on my 30th birthday.