Drunk Gorilla

I hate drinking, I love sipping.

Give me a glass of wine or two or three and I can chatter away, pleasantly tipsy, over college boyfriends and stories of idiocy.

Give me too much booze to drink and, eventually, I’ll wake up with a raging hangover and do what any writer would (right?) and write about how hungover I am the next morning.

My Dad abhors drinking to excess, as his experiences were always negative. When I was a kid I’d make him recount, over and over, the stories of his college days, and the image that stuck with me was when he’d describe the hangover: “It’s like a ten ton gorilla was sitting on your head all night and when you wake up, you realize he also shat in your mouth.” WHAT?! A big, fat, stupid gorilla poops in your mouth when you’re hungover?! I’d imagine my dad lying asleep, mouth open, as a big stupid ape posed over his face and let loose. Gross! That won’t happen to me!

It wasn’t until college did I realize I had a monkey of my own to deal with. I’d see him, at the start of a party when I walked in to a dorm room, drunk as hell, waiting for me. Then, like an idiot, I’d have one-too-many BudLites and that drunk-ass gorilla would then climb onto my back and give me the hardest off balance walk of my life, and later, a big ton’o’shite in my mouth.

You’d think I’d learn my lesson, and I did, isn’t that what college is for?

Last night, however, was too much. And now, I’m feeling pretty stinky.

Stupid gorilla, Stupid me.

November 2, 2013 at 1:37 pm by Natalie Allen