We spent a great deal of Sunday relaxing because the previous two nights were un-relaxing. Despite our best intentions of leaving two parties at a reasonable time we found ourselves dragging our carcasses through the front door as the sun was beginning to peek its head over the horizon. We clearly had underestimated how entertaining our friends are. And I have never found a pitcher of Sangria that I haven't immediately befriended, including the storage bin filled with suspiciously purple colored liquid at the Christmas party.
Fortunately I was a member of a rugby club during university and knew exactly what I needed after two nights of debauchery. I lived with three teammates during my final year who were also completing their studies. One was a civil engineering major like me and the two others were completing a doctoral degrees in microbiology and neurology. Our weekend routines consisted of rugby on Saturday, partying on Saturday night and then waking up on Sunday with a lot of work to complete. One of the roommates had to routinely slaughter mice on Sunday. There was no laying about in bed and crying over your pounding head. Every Sunday morning we would each consume one cup of coffee, a diet coke, lot of Gatorade and something greasy. Sunday morning was the one time each week that I would indulge in pizza, tacos or a burger. After the mixture of caffeine, sugar, electrolytes and grease the day seemed more bearable.
Ten years later I woke up on Sunday morning and dragged myself to the Starbucks, 7-11 and McDonald's. I wonder if my roommates still have to do the Sunday routine. I would like to imagine that I'm not the last to grow up.
Fortunately I was a member of a rugby club during university and knew exactly what I needed after two nights of debauchery. I lived with three teammates during my final year who were also completing their studies. One was a civil engineering major like me and the two others were completing a doctoral degrees in microbiology and neurology. Our weekend routines consisted of rugby on Saturday, partying on Saturday night and then waking up on Sunday with a lot of work to complete. One of the roommates had to routinely slaughter mice on Sunday. There was no laying about in bed and crying over your pounding head. Every Sunday morning we would each consume one cup of coffee, a diet coke, lot of Gatorade and something greasy. Sunday morning was the one time each week that I would indulge in pizza, tacos or a burger. After the mixture of caffeine, sugar, electrolytes and grease the day seemed more bearable.
Ten years later I woke up on Sunday morning and dragged myself to the Starbucks, 7-11 and McDonald's. I wonder if my roommates still have to do the Sunday routine. I would like to imagine that I'm not the last to grow up.
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