Over-hung

What is it about the holiday season that makes it almost mandatory to overindulge?

One glass of wine? Ha! I mock you. Make that one BOTTLE, please.

One helping of dessert? Not for this girl, thank you very much. I’ll have the whole pie.

One game of pool? I think not. We’re going to shut down the bar – didn’t you get the memo?

We flit from fête to fête, wine in festive bag, with rampant widespread cheek-kissing more prevalent than the flu. Hello, Goodbye, Your tree is beautiful [though not as beautiful as mine], I love what you did with your hair, sorry to hear about the divorce, we’ll have to do it again soon. Then off to the next one. And somehow, in the midst of small-talk-land and lipstick-stained cheeks, we find ourselves a little tipsy.

Ok, a lot tipsy.

Whether it’s the glow of the lights, the aroma of freshly-cut pines, or the glow we’ve still got from our holiday bonuses, noticing how much we’re drinking, how much we’re eating, and how late we’re staying goes out the window faster than my teenage boyfriend escaping the wrath of my parents. “Oh what fun it is to drink…” is our evening mantra, whereas in the morning, there is NOTHING amusing about a hangover.

Woe. Woe, redoux. Woe of the most woeful woedom is me. Please don’t mention alcohol around me. Please help me pick my head up off of my desk, and while you’re at it, can you get me another bottle of Pepto? I finished the other two. And please, PLEASE be my witness when I sign my “I’m swearing off alcohol indefinitely” statement, to be posted on the wall for all eternity.

But you DO know that a synonym for ‘indefinitely’ is ‘until the party this evening’, now don’t you?