Earlier on this beautifully hot and Decemberless morning, I woke up experiencing my fist ever hangover. The throbbing headache, the incessant nausea, and fevers that were more like hot flashes. In an attempt to cool my body down I sat on the kitchen tile, and in an attempt to stabilize my consciousnesses I re-read over and over the label of the box that happened to be in front of me. It was then that I had this conversation with my father, as he stared me down suspiciously.  

Dad: Are you sick again?
Me: It's not like that.
Dad: Are you hungover?
Me: Something like that.
Dad: What are you doing, are you hallucinating?
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Dad: The way you're staring at that box, are you on drugs?
Me: I'm reading the label.
Dad: Why?
Me: You read Bibles, I read labels. Are you on drugs?
Dad: The Bible has truth.
Me: So does this label. Truth: I saved $20 on this pair of shoes.

Karma, or perhaps my dad's Lord's Almighty Hand, got the best of me because I instantly ran to the bathroom and upchucked my dinner from the night previously. Hey, it's one way to remember you had Mexican and margaritas the night before.