I am writing to you about your recent and rather unwelcome visit – which coincided with another unwelcome visitor, Daylight Savings.
Interestingly enough, the day before you both arrived, I had googled “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to start Daylight Savings on the last day of the Victorian school holidays???”. BTW, the multiple question marks really help me channel my anger.
After you had both arrived, I had a full day of people talking about “Old Eight O’Clock” and “New Eight O’Clock” and – even more confusingly – “Eight O’Clock”, where I didn’t know whether they were talking “New” or “Old” and felt like crying because my head hurt so much. After that, I googled “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to start daylight savings on the day I was hungover like a bastard???”
(Some might say a more appropriate question might have been “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to drink for 12 hours solid the day before daylights savings kicked in???” – the answer to which would be “Me!!!!!!!!” - but that’s a matter of opinion.)
Anyway, you came with the kind of vengeance reserved for people who had been out drinking until 2:30am, whereas technically I had been drinking until Old 1:30am. As a result, I suspect you charged me the price for that extra hour of drinking that I didn’t actually do. I’m sure of it.
Admittedly, I should have known that there would be trouble. The fact that I started doing bare-footed modern dance moves with my wayward friend McFee should have been a clear indication something was afoot (if you’ll pardon the pun). Yes, we went all interpretive. I even remember lying on my back and encouraging her to put her whole weight on my feet so I could lift her like Superman. “I can do it, I can do it!” I shouted to her, quickly followed by “I can’t do it” as we collapsed into a drunken heap.
Still, such joie de vivre shouldn’t be punished so harshly, Hangover. No, really. The world needs more interpretive dance. It is the international language that all human hearts speak… when completely pissed, that is.
When I awoke the next morning, I thought I had managed to avoid you. I felt so invincible that I got up to make pancakes for my children. Turns out, I was wrong. The only reason I still felt any good was because I was still drunk. And with sobriety, came your arrival. And with your arrival, came a new meaning to the phrase “tossing pancakes”.
The point is, even if I did deserve your visit, did you have to stay so long? When it came time to honour my promises to the kids to play the Ben Ten Omnitrix Duel For Power Game and help construct a Lego Hero Factor Furno Bike did you really have to hang around? That shit ain’t funny, Hangover. You could have nipped off quietly and left me to it. But noooooo.
And then, because of your little friend Daylight Savings, I was left with one hour less in the day to get over you, so you extend your visit til Monday morning, which was the morning after the day after the night before. It was also the first day back at school, so I had to get the kids up at Old Six O’Clock in order to get them to school at New Nine O’Clock even though they’d been up to eleven o’clock the night before. And no, don’t ask me if that’s Old or New eleven o’clock because it doesn’t matter. It was frickin’ late, okay?
Sheesh, no wonder I’ve still got a headache three days later.