In bed this morning, I stirred. Mistake. The dogs think that it’s time to get up when I stir. It’s not. Especially not today. My head was so cloudy. My eyelids seemed weighted. I raised my eyebrows to see if the momentum might make it a little easier to open my eyes. Nope.
Feeling the thunk of Redford’s chin on the bed, I flopped an arm over and scratched his whiskers before tucking my hand back under the warm covers. Violet came in and did her morning shake. I could’ve stayed in bed all day.
Because yes, I indulged this weekend. I threw caution to the wind and decided, I’m a grown-up, I can consume whatever I please.
And now I’m hung over.
Not from beer. No hard liquor for me. No champagne toasts.
GLUTEN. That’s right: pita bread, lasagna soup, olive rolls. Mmmmmmm.
(Worth it.)
(Not worth it.)
(Fighting with myself over whether it was worth it.)
