Tuesday, June 24, 2008

hair of the dog

I used to read all manner of lame ass magazines--women's fashion magazines, errant GQ's and Esquires that my brothers had lying around. I remember reading in one that a woman who orders a glass of white wine at a bar is a woman looking for intrigue, but not trouble. She's on the lookout, the make, whatever it's called, but not going to be all that fun or whatever, and not intending to over-indulge or really lose herself. She wants to relax her inhibitions a little, but still be a lady. Yeah, it was a crappy article (I think it was "what your drink says about you"), and full of gender stereotypes. Lame.

Anyway, I am probably one of those women, but I don't care how that makes me look. Actually, I hardly drink anyway, which is probably even less of a look, and it's not like TD cares whether or not I drink (or cares to drink much himself). Last night, at the nice restaurant where we had tasty food and split two bottles of nice whatever among six people, I had two (maybe 2.5) glasses of red wine and was spirited and gay. Charming, even. I woke up this morning, however, with a bad headache and lingering body aches, not unlike what happens when I eat shellfish. Ow. They're just now clearing up. I vow never to drink again.

Solutions other than to just stop drinking red wine altogether? Seems like that's the only option. Today, lots of water, and greasy food.