Don't Say I Didn't Warn You!

A few years ago we went to a wedding. A Hindu wedding, to be specific. If you've been around for a while you may remember my recap of this event. If not, read this. Pay close attention to the last line of the post.

We arrived in the Bahamas on Thursday afternoon. After we checked in and got changed we joined some friends at the pool. With daylight savings we only had about an hour before the Aquaventure closed and we wanted to take a ride down the lazy river. On our way back to our room we stopped and bought some $12 drinks. Aside from the whole $12 drink thing, all was right with the world.

At 7:30 we all piled onto a rented bus to head to a pre-wedding 'Welcome' dinner at a local joint. When the bars opened we sauntered up and placed an order. Since we were ordering several drinks for several people, SOB put a five spot in the tip jar. Apparently someone noticed this. For the rest of the evening a lovely young man named Moral (no effing joke) was at our beck and call. Even when we weren't calling him, he was always refilling our glasses. 

Aside from the bottomless beer and wine, SOB was sneaking off and taking shots of tequila with his buddy Phil. Please note that he wasn't sneaking away from me, because I would rather know exactly how many tequila shots he's doing at any given time. Unfortunately Phil's wife frowns upon consumption of alcohol, and even though these guys only ever get together every few years she didn't want them to have fun. Thus the sneaking.

Since I didn't know about the sneaky shots, when our table was presented with a shot per person I handed mine over to SOB. Soon after dinner the fireworks display began. We all jumped to our feet to get a better view. Only when SOB tried to get to his feet, well, let's just say he wasn't so steady.

Even though he had been totally cut off at that point, we still had over an hour before the shuttle bus came to take us home. I sat him on the wall and delivered cokes and waters as often as possible, but the damage was done. Of course when I was in the bathroom he decided to pick up the groom. Ugh. 

Finally I took him out front a few minutes before the end of the party, and we were joined by Phil and his wife. All of sudden, SOB couldn't keep his mouth shut. He didn't say anything too horrible, but he did tell the wife that she was a control freak and a stick in the mud.

On the shuttle he got the hiccups, and I got nervous. Luckily we were by the door so I was able to get him off the bus and into the elevator before his pals, who were headed to the casino, could get their clutches in him. He kept yelling for them to put $1000 on black, so I'm really glad we didn't gamble. 

In the room, he headed for the toilet. Nothing happened to he headed to the bed. I decided to stay away for a little while just in case he needed some help eventually. Finally, an hour later I was too tired to stay away. Sprawled in the middle of the bed, SOB snored away. I nudged him and asked him to roll over. As he heaved himself over to his side of the bed, his stomach much have flip flopped. 

And that's when the puking began.

Most of the puke ended up on the floor, but some of it got on the bed. And on his pillow. I tried to get him to the bathroom, but he wasn't budging. I urged him to get in the shower and clean himself up, but again his only reply was a garbled snore. After much internal deliberation, I threw some towels over the floor puke and got as close to the to the other edge of our king size bed as possible. 

Imagine my surprise to hear someone cleaning the floor at 7am. I guess he woke up and connected the dots. Since he was probably still a little drunk he thought it would be a good idea to start mopping up the puddles. He did an OK job, but the rug still had to be shampooed. 

Twice. 

Luckily for me, SOB has some sort of super-human hangover healing ability. A nice dish on pancakes and bacon and he was right as rain.

And we still had two more days to go...