I think right now I’m going to send myself a letter that should not be received until next Christmas season. The letter will read: “Beware holiday parties, you no longer have the stomach of a 22 year old. You can’t handle it, old lady, so stick to a glass or two of wine and leave the vodka on the shelf.”
It was fun anyway, but yeah, I’m sorry Mr. duck.
I’ve got what i like to think of as an angry duck that lives somewhere around my spleen and he gets very, very angry sometimes. He starts hollering and pecking at my insides and it’s not pretty. Alcohol, sugar, delicious coffees, cheese plates, all of these things I can handle just fine in moderation, but add them up all together and the duck get angry, very very angry.
We had a holiday party at work and I was so happy to actually get to speak to other humans that I just kept ordering greyhounds. It was super fun.