Ye Olde Aftermath

Yesterday was excellent.

I spent the day with my amigo roaming the hills, woods and sand traps (never, ever the fairway) waving all manner of portable lighting rods in the air and scaring the living hell out of the ground dwelling wildlife.

Later, we indulged in many barley sodas while chatting on his porch.

As many of you know, barley soda has a way of sneaking up on you and today I’m a little less spry than I was prior to my celebrating ways.
My insides are trying to come out.

My entrails are seriously thinking about becoming my extrails much to the amusement of the aqua-ettes.

“Serves you right!” one of the ladies said as I was flailing in the pool.

She may be right.

Now that I’m slowly (and reluctantly) joining the ranks of “Middle Aged Men” I find that nights of celebration take much longer to get over than they used to twenty years ago and maybe I should consider celebrating a little less exuberantly.


But wait…

Should I curb my “joie de vivre”? Try to quell my blind search for the unknown? Tone down my joy in Beer Pong or Battle Shots?


I think not.

When I’m four hundred years old (or maybe when I just look like it) and I can’t seem to get over that last epic night, maybe I’ll consider slowing down a bit.

Or, maybe just a little more “Hair of the Dog”…


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