Something wonderful has happened. I awoke Sunday morning with a splitting headache—and not just a my-sinus-infection-has-turned-into-a-proper-cold-headache (thanks to having spent every waking moment this past week amongst my snot-nosed, Tchaikovsky humming preschoolers)—but a bone fide hangover.
“Hallelujah!” I shouted.
Actually, it was something more along the lines of “What the f*ck possessed me to drink that many mojitos last night?” followed by an immediate, “Aspirin. NOW!”
But either way I was pleased. A Sunday morning hangover, you see, is the mark of a good Saturday night and seeing as I’ve spent the past two Saturdays alone in my kitchen smashing candy canes with a hammer and decorating sugar cookies with candied pearls and a pair of tweezers, I’ve been in dire need of a good Saturday night out.
It all began last Thursday when Philadelphia received its first dusting of snow and I received a text from PSM1. “The roads are a mess,” he wrote, “I might be running a bit late.”
This was rather providential seeing as I was still on my way home from work and about to text him the very same. The snow also resolved my “what to wear?” debate as even I know better than to wear heels in a snowstorm.
And so it was, in my black boots, skinny jeans and brown sweater that I trekked over to Grindcore Coffee, the new vegan place just off Dickinson Square Park. (I had great accessories too, but on account of having found myself in Nutcracker overload, I forgot to take my usual picture for your viewing pleasure.)
To be completely honest, I was not immediately impressed with PSM1, but when he texted me the following afternoon to ask how my students had done with their show (the infamous Preschool Nutcracker Extravaganza) I said to myself, “Hmmm Self, this man actually listened to what I was saying last night.” Perhaps because I talked of little else all evening (“My boss scheduled a fire drill for the MIDDLE of our rehearsal! We had to stop halfway through the Waltz of the Snowflakes to send the kids upstairs to get their jackets, which really defeats the purpose of a fire drill, and a dress rehearsal for that matter. I know fire safety is important and all but doesn’t he realize the show is in less than 24 hours???) but still, it was nice.
As such, when PSM1 asked if I’d like to do something Saturday night, I said yes. We went to Mixto for mojitos and between the two of us, we managed to sample nearly every possible flavor. (Note: if you’ve had a sinus infection for a week straight and have spent ten hours a day directing Nutcracker rehearsals and taping Polyspots to the stage, mojitos are NOT a good idea. Nor would I recommend heading over to Jolly’s Dueling Piano Bar for a round of Malibu and cranberries after quitting Mixtos, especially if your date knows the bar tender and he’s rather heady handed with the rum.)
So yes, I awoke with a hangover (and then had to teach Sunday School). But thanks to PSM1, I had what amounted to quite possibly my best Saturday night out in a very long time. My sinus infection has gone from bad to worse (and from worse to “Someone has my head in a vice grip and I would like to just lie down and die now, please”) but I consider this a small price to pay for a night spent drinking and—you’ll never believe this—dancing with a rather pleasant man.