I was "out" last night. Along with four other good friends, I celebrated a monday night with the company of several beers. Anyone who knows me is well aware of my featherweight tolerance, and last night was certainly no exception. Drinking at bars is always a challenge for me because lots of people TOUCH things. With their fingers. This is why I limit my consumption to bottleneck beer, in the hopes that the tiny opening limits the amount of bacteria seeping in.
After more than enough Coronas, my unfortunate designated driver dropped me off in front of my apartment. I managed to make it five steps inside when my stomach turned on me. Finding no strength to make a mad dash to my pristine, recently-Cloroxed toilet, I am forced to approach the kitchen trashcan.
This is quite possibly the worst moment of my life. I need to throw up,which is already heinous enough, and now I have to yak into the trashcan filled with what looks like Tuberculosis and Gangrene.
I'll spare the details. But I am permanently scarred from the decision I was forced to make, and I spent the next hour simultaneously scrubbing myself down in the shower and rinsing with mouthwash.
Which incidentally had alcohol in it. This time, I was right next to the toilet.
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