Another Wedding Story

You might have read my last post about my brother’s wedding and thought, “Wow, that Rachel has really grown up. She responsibility fulfilled all of her assigned duties. What a great sister of the groom.”

Well, I should be honest, that’s only partially true.

In Typical Awkward Rachel Behavior, things got a little weird. I figure I might as well own up to it considering half (or all) of my family already knows the story anyway. (And one cousin commented on Facebook about it… You know who you are!)

Anyway, ye ol’ devil alcohol played a role. Shocking. In my defense, though, it wasn’t the quantity consumed, it was my body saying, “You’re tacky and I hate you.”

So even though I had drank (way) more during my trip – high school reunions and celebrity sightings! – my body had been biding its time to really make me suffer.

It started at the most awkward instance possible: While riding the bus home from the reception. Oh, and the icing on the (wedding) cake? I realized I was going to be sick while talking to the best man, my brother’s best friend since they were two, who was in the middle of telling me how he’d always had a crush on me growing up.

Way to show him the error of his impressionable youth, Rachel.

Of course in hindsight, this sickening outcome isn’t that shocking. There was a point during the reception where I was literally laying on the ground during Shout. You ain’t never seen nobody get any softer now. (Also it has dawned on me that the combination of my dominating dancing and bouquet catching is going to make for a legendary wedding video, one that will most definitely be used to blackmail me one day.)

I thought of all this while I was on my death bed the entire next morning (death bed = floor of the bathroom), unable to even hold down water. Missing the family gathering at the hotel, mind you. Apparently my absence was explained with...the truth. Fantastic.

You see, I suffer from a little condition I have diagnosed as Next Day Vomitosis, a severely horrible case of hangover. Only one other person I know suffers as bad as me. When I lived with this friend in college, let’s just say Friday mornings were not pretty.

Those are drunk eyes.
In hindsight maybe this
outcome wasn't so
shocking...

But this condition comes and goes. Fortunately it hasn’t happened in six months. (Unfortunately that time was also around my family. Oy.)

Luckily my sweet parents took pity on me. Although considering the fact my brother referred to me as an Old Maid on the way to the reception (I of course corrected him with my preferred terminology of Spinster), I guess I did deserve some compassion. In the form of suit-case packing.

So weak. So fragile. So hot mess-y.

But even this puketastic memory doesn’t tarnish that of the wedding. I still stand by my previous sentiment: It was perfect.

P dot S: “Puke free since ’93.” HIMYM is genius.