Member-only story
Thank God for McDonald’s
my saviour to all of my worst hangovers
It was a decade ago that I had that all too familiar feeling that I wouldn’t be able to leave the hotel room I was staying in. The night before was one for the books: my friend and I shimmied and shook the night away in a club in Buzios, Brazil. The drinks were poured with a heavy hand, the men were deliciously intoxicating, and I was having too much fun to realize just what time it was.
It’s a tale as old as time.
Fast-forward 8+ drinks later to 4:00am and I was tuck-and-rolling into an awaiting cab. I fell onto the bed, the room spinning, and wondered if I would have to sleep with a leg off the bed all night. Eventually, sleep won over nausea in the first battle, and I woke the next morning with one of the worst hangovers I had ever had. My friend, who hadn’t imbibed like I had, was feeling low, but not altogether horrible. She headed out for some breakfast, while I threw up heartily.
Eventually, I joined her, determined to make the best of my vacation, my head swimming, my eyes squinting, and my stomach revolting at the sight of breakfast. Still, I did my best and plied my body with carbs and meat. Don’t worry, I threw it up right away. In the sink. Like an asshole. I honestly can’t remember if I tipped the maid enough that day, but I should’ve left $100…
