So. Today I felt mildly better after the drunken revelry of two nights ago. A piece of advice: even if you think White Zinfandel is your friend, it isn’t. Even delicious wine makes you angry you drank it in the morning. Or, in my case, a few hours later.
Anyway, so I thought to myself, “Self, you’ve just spent the past day and a half hungover. You’re starting to feel better. What should you do to celebrate this?”
After talking to Beth, a light-bulb went off in my head. And that light-bulb said, “You should go ice skating.”
And that’s exactly what I did. Along with the Lovebirds (Beth and Jim) and Pork Chop (Timmy).
Now, this being the South and me being the only Northerner, this should’ve been a lot more interesting than it actually was. As in, there should’ve been people falling left, right and centre. But there wasn’t.
Timmy came close though. He came barrelling across the rink, but he didn’t know how to stop. So, he decided to kind of turn and slam into me. Well, he had too much forward momentum and rolled over me. He grabbed onto what he thought was the wall to prevent himself from falling.
Unfortunately for him, it was a door. And that door wasn’t locked slash closed correctly. And so it opened, taking him with it. Hilarity ensued.